Brighter Than The Sun
by Dispatchvampire
Summary: Boy hears Girl sing. Boy meets Girl. It could be the great American love story except Girl has a dangerous secret and is now a wanted fugitive. And Guy is an All American hero. Delilah Ford has had better weeks. Her life goes from 'three shows a week' to 'escape new york' in the blink of an eye. & then there's Steve. Pursued by the government is not the best time to fall in love
1. Chapter 1

It started, the way most things do: by accident, in this case, getting jostled by a fugitive basset hound on his evening run that had to be tackled to the ground before it ran out into traffic. Though he was quickly returned to his grateful owners, for a dog that size, Flash had lived up to his name. And so it happened Steve Rogers, covered in sweat, dog hair, and dog spit, ended up in front of the Velvet Rose Lounge. It wasn't exactly a good look, but then, he wasn't planning on going in.

At least, until he heard it. This voice, this ethereal siren's call that wrapped around him like a London fog, drifted out the door like a sweet perfume singing a song he hadn't heard in… well, he'd been in a much smaller uniform then.

The haunting notes of 'Skylark' called to a spot in his heart that was especially tender, bringing thoughts and recollections to the surface he normally didn't allow in daylight hours. The aching sadness of the voice, so gentle and pure, accompanied by a piano, left him rooted to the spot, caught in the vice grip of memories so potent they made his eyes burn.

"Move it, buddy!"

It was only when he was almost taken out by a bicycle delivery rider that he was able to snap back into place and time. Shaking off the spell of the music and the _voice_, he continued his run and wound his way back to Avengers Tower. Home sweet highrise.

The feeling of melancholy memories followed him into his evening, keeping to himself instead of eating dinner with his chosen family, which he did most nights. Instead, he retired to his studio and had Jarvis cue up as much Hoagy Carmichael as he could stand as he let his pencils and charcoals etch out his mental ephemera.

"A bit maudlin, don't you think?"

If he was surprised to hear Natasha's voice in the doorway behind him, he didn't show it. She didn't make a habit of breaking in, but she was more than capable when she needed to be.

"Maybe." His shoulder rose but he didn't look back at her as he traced the fine lines of a woman behind an old school microphone stand. "Maybe I just felt a little… old today and wanted to reminisce. Something wrong with that?" His gaze flicked over his shoulder, catching the assassin's as she made her way over to the other stool in the room.

She looked comfortable, in yoga pants and a sweatshirt that looked like it might have been sized for Thor hanging off her shoulder, her long red hair tied up in a messy bun held up with potentially lethal chopsticks.. "Missed you at dinner."

The corner of his mouth curved into a slight smirk as he took in her painted toes curled around the rungs of the stool. "And you were the one nominated to come check on me?"

Natasha huffed a quiet laugh. "Actually Clint drew the short straw, but he's not really someone you want assessing anyone's emotional state."

Steve snickered and dipped his head with a nod. "Fair enough. Tell everyone I'm fine, just wanted to draw a little tonight. Nothing serious."

Her gaze was a tactile thing, a scan he could almost feel as she weighed the truth of his statement. "Okay. I'll leave you to it then. See you in the morning?" Every morning they met in the gym to work out and spar.

He flashed her a grin, a quick show of teeth as he watched her back out of the room. "Bright and early as always."

The moment he heard the door close behind her, he set his charcoal down and sighed. The woman, the nameless beauty whose musical notes burrowed under his skin even now, owned the stage he'd set for her, accompanied by a man at the piano and a faceless man smoking as he plucked the upright bass.

"Lady Sings the Blues" he wrote in the corner with his initials before turning the page. With that, he blew out a deep sigh and put his art supplies away for the evening and had Jarvis kill the music. It felt like a good spot to leave his memories where they belong, in the past.

* * *

It didn't matter the path his nightly run took, somehow, some way, he managed to end by wandering past the Velvet Rose in hopes… Just 'in hopes', of hearing that voice, of hitting that time portal he found that first day. He wasn't disappointed, either. From the outdoor patio area that met the sidewalk, he could hear her, soft and clear, so passionate. Bringing life to feelings and recollections that left him, for just a moment, feeling whole again. Normal.

He didn't miss dinner again, though, because worrying his overbearing teammates usually resulted in 'conversations' he'd just as soon forego. But late at night, when he couldn't sleep, he'd draw and think of her.

It took almost two weeks before he convinced himself to actually go into the bar. Around his demanding schedule leading the Avengers, he didn't have too much in the way of time for recreation that he didn't carve out himself. But somehow, in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon, he found himself dressed in his regular clothes, pondering entry into what was clearly a hipster establishment.

The bouncer seated by the door simply nodded as he entered, and again Steve appreciated the anonymity the city afforded him. Especially in the dimly lit interior of the vintage-inspired speakeasy and club. The darkened stage was empty, unfortunately, and he was one of maybe two or three inside who weren't working there preparing for the evening.

As disappointed as he was that she wasn't onstage, he figured he could at least learn her name. Steve flagged down the bartender merely by picking up a coaster.

After ordering a beer, Steve decided to go for it. "There's a girl who works here…" he started, trailing off as he felt the slightly self-conscious flush begin to creep up his neck, but the bartender simply raised an eyebrow. "She's a singer?"

The man stepped away for a moment to grab his bottle, and Steve couldn't help but follow his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder to the stage, now lit with a single overhead spotlight on the piano. The lone figure he hadn't noticed before emerged from the wings of the stage, dressed not too differently from how he'd seen Natasha dress, in jeans with artful tears and a long-sleeved shirt that hung low on one shoulder, revealing the tank top underneath. Her curly hair was pulled back into a thick but unruly bun at the base of her head.

God, she was beautiful. His artist's eye took in everything about her, mocha skin that looked soft to the touch, she was shorter than he expected, curvier, but that was all he could really see across the room, but when she played. Man, when she sat down to play that piano he began as transfixed and immediately became transported. He found himself at a table near the stage with no memory of how he'd gotten there. Watching, absorbing the music as her voice filled the room like a warm fire on a cold night, bringing him comfort and the most peculiar feeling of being home.

When she sang, he felt like he was the only one in the room. 'I've Got You Under My Skin' could not have been a more accurate assessment of his current state. Her voice was like warm honey and velvet, so soft and sweet, a tactile sensation floating across his skin and leaving goosebumps behind. Watching her perform on the stage, just her and a piano, felt almost too personal, too intimate.

When she finished the song, he left without ever learning her name. His legs felt shaky on the walk home, like he'd been leveled by a kick from Thor. He felt strangely prickly, his skin oversensitive like static electricity just before an especially painful zap. One thing Steve could attest to with absolute certainty, though, was he would be back. Without question.

* * *

At night, after dinner, when everyone retired to whatever their evening plans were, Tony usually headed down to his workshop, Bruce back to his lab, Steve ducked out and headed down to the Velvet Rose.

The lounge after dark was a sight to behold. In the daytime it was just a nondescript bar with a retro feel, but at night it was an echo that resonated in his soul. Men in suits with slicked back hair, women in dresses with hats and gloves, everyone dressed to the nines. Couples eating, dancing, really, the only thing missing was the cigarette girls. Even the band on stage wore ties, their suit jackets hanging on the rack just off to the side as a nod to the hot Klieg lights. And there, center stage, she held court.

Wearing an azur satin dress that showcased her curves in razor sharp detail, he found himself mesmerized by her very presence. Not just her voice now, or her face even, but _her_. Her long curly hair hanging free and looking like it would be so soft to the touch, her full lips kissably red and sexy. God, everything about her looked touchable and he wanted to, so badly.

Some nights, when it wasn't too crowded, he'd sit at a table, off to the side. He'd bring his sketchbook with him and some pencils. It wasn't anything fancy, but the need to draw her, to allow the feelings that welled up in him to be free, had become imperative. And she drew those emotions from him with alarming ease.

Other nights, he just sat and nursed his beer as he took her in. He didn't do this as often though, because it felt off to him, a bit creepy he supposed, but he felt a need to be near her that he couldn't deny. And to be honest, he didn't feel like denying it, either.

Tonight though, after a long day of SHIELD briefings and seemingly endless training seminars, he'd put on his suit and set out with his charcoals and his sketchpad when his two worlds collided.

"Her name's Delilah."

The familiar voice startled him so badly Steve about jumped out of his skin. When he turned to look at Clint, the man was staring at the stage and easily as enraptured by the woman as he was. "I'm sorry?"

"The singer," he repeated. "The woman Phil says you're _mooning over_." He emphasized the last two words and rolled his eyes in Steve's direction. "Her _name_ is Delilah. Delilah Ford from Schenectady."

He frowned at the archer, taking in the tie and his messy hair and his grin, and how effortlessly he fit into the overall scene. "You and Phil don't have to do a deep dive on her. I'm not 'mooning' over her." The lie tasted terrible on his tongue, but he was not going to have this conversation with him. So he hadn't learned her name yet, hadn't spoken to her at all. Just seeing her got him flustered in a way he'd prefer not to examine too closely.

His friend shrugged and swirled the cubes in his glass. "You disappear at night. Almost every night. Nat worries. Phil figured it was prudent to take a look." He paused to sip his whiskey, his sharp eyes never leaving Steve's face. "And I don't have to be a psychic to know you're crushing hard here. So why don't you tell me about it."

Steve put his sketchbook and pencils back in the satchel he'd brought with him. "So besides your best friend and your boyfriend, anyone else know? Bruce? Thor? Tony?" He didn't even attempt to hide his annoyance. "I didn't think my personal life needed team approval."

Clint shook his head. "Nah. Didn't see a need to mention it." He finished his drink and stood up. "I got curious as to where you go at night, so I followed. It's what I do. I'm not going to apologize for looking out for you. That said," he threw down a few bills and collected the suit jacket he'd likely borrowed from Phil, "you should talk to her."

He watched the archer disappear into the crowd and sighed, deeply. One of the things he appreciated about living with his ragtag ad hoc family was the way they looked out for each other. It was also one of the pitfalls. He sighed ruefully as the set ended. He should be getting along. Even though he didn't need a lot of sleep, he still needed some, especially if he was going to get up in the morning and go five rounds with Natasha. She never pulled punches.

He was almost to the bar when a hand on his arm stopped him. "Excuse me. Do I know you?"

* * *

He was tall, Delilah could tell that from the stage, but up close… Yeah, up close he was towered over her, and while the floor-length mermaid dress certainly called for heels, she was in flats. In his dark colored suit and coordinated tie with a full Windsor knot, he was literally blonde head and shoulders above the rest. Her 'mystery white boy' as she thought of him was pretty from a distance and damn near a work of art as she stood next to him. Shoulders for miles tapering down to a narrow waist, strong-looking arms, thick thighs and an ass… gracious. It was a wonder she didn't go up in flames on the spot.

It had been weeks, so many weeks since she saw him come in on for one of her afternoon practice sessions. Hell, he'd walked in and it had been hard to come out on stage. He was… perfect, honestly. An underwear model in a perfume ad at the front of Vanity Fair, perfect. Seeing him down there, sitting next to the stage watching her, only her, as she played and sang, she'd felt open, vulnerable, both of which she had no business feeling about a stranger.

Her dress, makeup, those were her armor, her shield against a world that tried to crush her daily, and he'd seen her without the protection of the mask. She'd seen him several more times at several more shows after that, but that first time was burned into her consciousness.

And maybe she'd imagined this moment once or twice, too. That was allowed, wasn't it?

His smile was shy, polite. He dipped his head, cheeks flushing. "No, I just have one of those faces."

She held out her hand. "Delilah Ford."

He straightened up immediately and folded his hand around hers, engulfing it completely. "Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you. You sing beautifully."

Now she was the one blushing. "Thank you, Steve."

He held a chair out for her from the table he'd just vacated, and honestly, she was grateful for the seat. She didn't use her cane when she performed, and damn did she hurt after a show. Normally she'd be backstage with ice packs and her meds, but when she saw him tonight, she just knew she had to meet him. It was only fair since he'd been coming to almost every performance-and even some of her practice sessions-for weeks now and hadn't said a word to her.

The bartender brought her over a club soda with lime and another beer for him, and she thanked him and toasted her new companion. "Cheers."

"Sláinte." They sipped and he smiled shyly. "It's… you don't hear this kind of music often anymore. Like ever." It was a tone of home that resonated so deeply within him; it bypassed his better sense.

Delilah nodded approvingly. "You don't and it's a shame. This is easily the highlight of my day. Get all dolled up, come out on stage, and do what I was born to do."

"You do it well." He let his bottom lip slip through his teeth in a flirty kind of grin that made her want to climb him like a tree.

"Thank you. So…" she took the lime wedge off the rim of her glass and squeezed it before taking a drink. "I, um... see you here quite a bit."

He ducked his head with a wide grin. "You noticed me, huh?"

Every woman in the building noticed when he came in, it was like a phone tree meeting a live wire. "You're kinda hard to miss." From her vantage point on the stage, she noticed a lot about him, not the least of which was that he barely drank, and the bartender said the strongest he ran was a bottle of beer. Just the one. Instead, he sat off to the side and… well. "So may I ask what it is you do?"

His blue eyes narrowed as he regarded her. "In terms of…?"

She shrugged and sipped. "In terms of here." She gestured to the area around them. "You come in every night, and I can tell you're enjoying the music but you're also doing... something. I'm curious. What is it?"

He grimaced as he slowly took his leather messenger bag off his shoulder. "I… that is, you're… very observant." Very deliberately he opened the case and pushed a closed notebook with a battered black cover across the table. "I draw."

"An artist? I love it!" Carefully she opened the book and found that not only could he draw, he was damn good at it. Pictures of faces with numerous expressions, languid figures in exquisite motion, and highly detailed scenes. She flipped through the images marveling at his skill. "These are beautiful."

"Thanks," he muttered against the lip of his beer bottle as he tipped it back, doing his best to ignore how exposed he felt.

The further back she got the more recent the pictures became. Pictures of the Velvet Rose sign, embellished in all its neon glory, pictures of her mic-chosen for its old school vibe, and then several sketches of her. Singing, smiling… with a flower in her hair like Billie Holliday. It was surprisingly flattering to be the subject of his artistic inclinations, personal in a way that made her cheeks, and the whole rest of her, flush with pleasure. "I-I don't know what to say."

Showing her had been a bad idea. Steve bit his lip as he collected his book and put it back in his bag. "Look, I-I'm sorry. I'm sure this is probably weird, and I don't want you to think I'm a stalker or anything. I just… your music… your voice… you..." Looking a bit helpless and forlorn, he sighed so deeply the flowers of the centerpiece on the table moved. "Sorry. I don't mean to be awkward. You're just so beautiful."

Delilah blinked at him, stunned into silence by his open admission. She was many things, but beautiful wasn't really one of them. Her skin has always been the wrong shade of brown, her hair too fluffy, her body too wide… In her whole life, she'd never been anyone's idea of beautiful. "I… Thank you?" What else could she say? He'd obviously meant it as a compliment, and the quality of his drawings showed he wasn't blind as a proverbial bat… maybe just… fancifully inclined? Either way, there was no way he meant-

"Aaaaaand, I just made it worse. Great." Steve rose, cheeks aggressively red as he blushed. "I'm sorry to bother you. Please forgive me." And then he turned and quickstepped through the crowd and out of the bar. At least he would have if not for the three large men in kevlar suits wearing helmets and carrying rifles muscling their way in, pushing back the patrons in their way.

"We are looking for Delilah Ford," the one in front announced loudly and the hushed crowd all turned and looked at her. Even though no one called her out specifically, they may as well have cleared a path and shone a spotlight.

Just when she was about to step forward, Steve inserted himself between her and them. "Why do you want her?"

"This doesn't concern you," the goon snarled, and even though she couldn't see through the face shield on the helmet, she could tell the moment their eyes met.

"It does if you don't have a warrant." Steve's voice was soft, like silk as he slowly took off his satchel and let it slowly slide down to the ground at his feet. The warning in his tone, however, was unmistakable. She didn't know what he planned to do against a bunch of guys with guns, but it appeared he wanted to defend her, crazy bastard.

One of the goons from the back row lunged like a barely leashed dog. "She needs to come with us."

Steve cocked his head to the side and considered the guy for a moment before looking back at her over his shoulder. Unsure as to what he expected from her, she just shrugged. And then, of all things, he winked at her. "Okay then."

What happened next was so fast, her eyes couldn't even track it. He had a chair in hand and smashed it into toothpicks on the first guy with one hand as he reached for the one in the back, and shoved him and his compadre into and through another table.

"Holy shit!" They were the only words her brain could process that her lips could form.

"You should be running," he replied tersely as the leader got up off the floor and shook off what would likely be a serious headache, some broken ribs, and a crapton of splinters.

Fuck. She looked behind her quickly and saw the emergency exit, it may as well have been a mile away. "I can't run," she muttered, but even as the words left her lips, she was inching her way back to the emergency exit. Her leg, the bad one, sent searing jolts of pain shooting up her back with every step as she tried to move faster to get away for the swarm of guys dressed in black pouring in through the door like army ants. And Steve, her champion, showed absolutely no signs of slowing down. He apparently was taking all comers. She refused to acknowledge the part of her that found that immeasurably hot.

When she got close enough, she saw one of the bouncers holding the door and motioning for her to follow him outside to the alley where she could disappear into the night. Her car was parked back there and as much as she wanted to wait for Steve, she knew that so long as she was there, everyone in the place was in danger. She was heading to the parking lot when hands reached out of the shadows and grabbed her from both sides.

Delilah fought immediately, as best she could, but she wasn't exactly dressed for brawling and she didn't have her cane with her.

"She's secure," one of the faceless goons said as he touched his ear and she could hear the melee in the bar settle down some. "Bring the other one if you can get him, but she's the one we want."

'The other one' was probably Steve, but considering she had no idea who these people were or what they wanted, she felt like pissing them off even more was not in her best interests.

"You should let me go. I'm not the person you want," she offered gamely as they began to shuffle/drag her down the alley to a waiting black van with the doors open. The engine was running and there were two or three more people inside that she could pick out of the darkness.

"Shut up or we'll gag you," was the only reply.

Figuring she didn't have to make this easy on them, she decided to let them drag her where they wanted as the deadest of weights, even though she hated ruining her dress. Scraped up legs or not, she was not getting in that vehicle. "I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding, but I'm not going with you. You know that, right?"

The goon on her right punched her then, closed fist smashed her in her face hard enough to whip her head to the side and make her ear ring. Her temperature spiked and she knew this whole scene was about to go pear-shaped with a body count. Fuck.

"I wish you hadn't done that." She spit on the ground by his shoes the taste of her blood light on her tongue but present nonetheless.

"Oh yeah?" he sneered, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her bicep as he yanked her up close. "Why's that?"

"Because then I would have let you live."

The pain that lived in her body, that was melded into every muscle and bone, flared, and everything she did to control it made her sweat. As her body temperature rose, her pulse throbbed in her ears and behind her eyes. She knew it was going to happen, the inevitable change. Her control was rapidly unspooling, the secret she'd worked so hard to keep hidden charging to the forefront, and all it took was one punch to the face to release it. White hot pain and rage fused, and suddenly everything around her washed white with a roar.

Oh, and there was screaming, so much screaming, and the smell of singed flesh and burnt hair. It was the kind of thing that had put her off ham forever. The two holding her were done, she knew that as she shook the bones of what was left of their hands from her arms as they turned to ash and flaked away. It was likely the ones in her immediate vicinity, out to about ten feet, were probably torched as well. It was beginning to look a great deal like the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark around her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

In her other form, she slowly rose from the ground until she was floating about four feet above it. Every gun in the alley was now pointed at her, for all the good they would do. In this incarnation, she was bulletproof with _consequences_, and more than happy to demonstrate if they felt like trying her.

The emergency exit of the bar slammed open, drawing everyone's attention as a mussed and disheveled Steve stumbled out, followed by a redheaded woman in a black catsuit. His suit was a loss, the jacket gone and the sleeves ripped to about the elbow, the end of his tie sticking out of his pants pocket, but he had his satchel with him. Still, he looked surprisingly intact for a guy who'd just battled what was probably a whole platoon of paramilitary thugs. He was a tough guy, she'd give him that.

His eyes widened and his mouth hung open the moment he saw her. "What the-?"

"Started the party without us? Really, Cap? We've talked about this." Over the speakers, she heard the interrupting chastisements of Iron Man as he swooped down from the roof of the next building over and hovered above the scene at eye level with her.

Oh shit, 'Cap'? Iron Man? That meant Steve, _her mystery white boy,_ was frickin' _Captain America_. "How is this my life?" she lamented softly as the guys with the guns seemed to settle on her as the larger threat.

"Federal agents! You're under arrest!" the goon in front shouted as he advanced on her, though his gun barrel wasn't exactly steady as he trained it on her and he didn't sound like he was too convinced. His convictions dipped further as she turned up the heat by pushing her aura out, causing the barrel to first turn red, then wilt right in front of him. The brick on the buildings on either side of the alley began to smoke a little and glow as she radiated, while the pavement underneath her grew sticky and melted.

"I hear they make medication for that," a voice from the top of the next building called with a smile. "Too bad about your penis extension." Delilah looked up just in time to watch the man shoot three arrows into the van they were planning to use to abduct her, taking out two tires and the driver.

"You're interfering with a federal investigation," the head goon shouted up to the archer as he threw down his now-useless rifle, but pulled his sidearm.

The man in question just smiled and drew back another arrow, this time aiming directly for him. "Imagine how little I give a fuck."

"Ooooookay." Iron Man eased forward with a hand up, both as a supplication and a weapon. "Everybody, _Hawkeye_, relax. Nobody else needs to die today. I'm sure we can figure this out."

"If you're the voice of reason, we're more fucked than I realized," the archer opined from his perch. He was a mouthy little bugger, but he wasn't wrong about them being screwed. So long as there were this many guns in play, it stood to be a very bad day for all involved.

The closer Iron Man got, the more concerned Delilah became, but she wasn't retreating an inch. Finally, she held up a hand. "Stop."

Everyone on the scene froze at the sound of her voice, even though she didn't yell. It was like her aura pulsed when she spoke, and the glowing bricks around her began to brighten in color and the dumpster behind her and off to the side began to smolder ominously.

"There's no need for this to go badly," Iron Man offered, hand still up and still advancing, albeit much more gingerly.

"Come any closer and you're a Hot Pocket," she warned, and that brought him to a halt.

"I beg your pardon." His arch tone said that if he had any pearls on, he would be clutching them.

"No offense." Above her, the man he'd called Hawkeye snorted. "It won't be on purpose, but the result will be the same. Please stay back."

To his credit, he took his hand back and pressed it to his chest in umbrage. "It's hard not to take that personally, not gonna lie."

"Apologies." She nodded to him then rose a bit further into air, drawing the beads of everyone with guns. "I'm not going with anyone," she calmly announced to assemblage, "and the very last thing you want to do is fire at me, unless you want to incinerate a city block." Bullets could impact her, and would hurt, but the only outcome would be even hotter energy output. The more they fired, the larger her burn radius would become.

"Delilah!" She heard Steve's voice behind her, calling her name as she turned to leave.

It was hard not to be a little sad. He had been a genuinely decent guy to her, but then, he _was_ Captain America, so she expected no less. "Steve, I'm sorry you got dragged into this. I loved your drawings."


	2. Chapter 2

"...and then she was gone." Steve had been filling Director Fury and Maria Hill in on the circumstances that surrounded the previous evening's misadventure. The meeting had been semi-impromptu in that Fury rang his doorbell at seven sharp and now the team was assembled in the communal kitchen eating breakfast while debriefing.

It was hard not to sound morose as he thought of her leaving. The idea that he'd never again see her at the bar or hear her sing left him heartbroken. She had been a tiny sliver of joy in his life that he coveted deeply and now felt bereft without it.

"Shot straight into the air and vanished into the sky like a damn meteor," Clint filled in as he picked apart his apple danish. He wasn't a fan of the frosting they were using, it seemed weak and didn't really mesh with the overall dessert. "It was kind of impressive."

"Impressive or not, Jarvis said the heat she was throwing off was testing the upper limits of the suit's structural integrity. That's saying something."

"I believe the phrase I used was 'calcine', sir," Jarvis observed dryly.

Tony smirked at Steve. "You _would_ get a date with the hottest woman on the planet. Literally."

"Right? He only just worked up the nerve to talk to her last night and she burst into flames. Talk about bad luck." The archer popped the last of his breakfast in his mouth as he leaned into the group. "She managed to burn a century's worth of pollution off the sides of those buildings. The fire department had to take care of the _partially melted_ dumpster that _fused to the asphalt_, and medics had to haul away a bunch of the mutant registration agents for second and third degree burns, and that's not counting the ones she cremated. Like in front of me. I may be scarred for life." He made the comically big puppydog eyes. "And all that was _before _she threatened to turn Tony into a Hot Pocket." Hawkeye's glee was evident, even if it wasn't shared by everyone at the table who'd been on the scene.

Natasha wrinkled her nose and rolled a shoulder in a dismissive shrug. "Less threat, more warning, really." She snagged a croissant off the tray and began to systematically rip it apart. "If she'd truly wanted to kill people, she could have done that inside the building."

"Or torched the whole alley," Clint added.

She nodded. "That too. It's pretty clear to me she didn't have to run."

It was clear to Steve, too. He thought about the way she'd cringed back from the violence, and limped out the door. She had truly been in pain, and still she didn't do anything until she'd been outside and away from noncombatants. As far as he was concerned, she only reacted after being backed into a corner. "Do we know what happened? What triggered her reaction?"

"She got hit." Clint bound up from the table and began rummaging through the cabinets before finally settling on the bowl of fruit on the counter. He brought it back to the table and thumped it down in front of him.

Just the words made Steve's hands curl into fists, and he had to consciously focus on relaxing his fingers and keeping his composure. "I'm sorry?"

"One of the MRA guys punched her in the face, so she smoked him. Literally." His tone indicated the silent agreement around the table, the guy who hit her had it coming, still, it was telling that her transformation was rage-initiated. Not unlike Dr. Banner's situation.

As far as Steve was concerned, everything he needed to know about her came down to the fact she could have fought, she could very well have killed everyone in that building, or on that block himself included, but instead, she chose to run. She did not seek out conflict and only reacted when she had to, he could respect that.

Tony's empathy only went so far, however. "Yeah, yeah, can we get back to the part where she threatened to turn me into me a Hot Pocket? Really? Who does that?"

"Certainly not the worst idea ever," Director Fury replied lightly while sipping his coffee. His patience with Tony's theatrics was notoriously low on a good day. And today was not a good day. He looked to Bruce. "What do we know about her power?"

Dr. Banner straightened up in his chair a bit more and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Analysis from Jarvis and from other sources on the scene say that she's possibly plasma based? Her surface temperature for the initial flair was something upwards of 2000⁰ Celsius, but the melted dumpster and glowing bricks on the buildings indicate she could go as high as maybe 2800 or more." He shrugged and sipped his tea. "We don't have an upper threshold, but I can tell you, she has amazing control." The note of jealousy in his voice was tough to miss.

The Director's eyes narrowed. "How do you figure?"

Bruce reached for a croissant and meticulously spread some goat cheese onto his pastry. "Captain Rogers had no idea she was a mutant, and he'd encountered her several times. She did not flare up in the club and didn't do it when initially detained. She didn't take the buildings down when she clearly could have. In short, as Natasha so succinctly put it, she didn't have to run. There's nothing they could have done to stop her."

"Something to keep in mind when we catch up with her." Fury looked at each of their expectant faces around the table, then asked, "So what do we know now?"

AD Hill pulled up a map to show everyone with a clear path that started about two blocks from the Avengers Tower and went pretty much due north. "We tracked the heat signature as far as Yonkers, but lost it." She tapped on the tablet in her hand. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has agents out of the Albany office sitting off her mother's house in Schenectady. No movement there, but it's early yet."

"Any other family?" Clint asked. He'd moved on to produce and was cutting slivers of an apple and eating them off the blade.

His boyfriend shook his head. "None close. The search is ongoing but for right now, no."

"So what do we know about her?"

Phil stood up, reading from his tablet. "Born in '85, she's the only child of Meredith and Harold Ford of Poughkeepsie. Harold died of a massive heart attack when she was two, Meredith moved to Schenectady and didn't remarry. Musical prodigy, BFA from Sarah Lawrence. Delilah was born sickly, with a few autoimmune diseases, one of which causes early-onset arthritis. Looking at these x-rays, it's a wonder she can walk at all."

Steve thought back to the bar, the way she moved onstage, always next to her stool or seated at the piano, the way she shuffled to the emergency exit when the fight started. Her sad, muffled admission that she didn't run because she couldn't run. Damn, but that made his heart hurt.

"Considering she floats, I wouldn't think that would be too much of a problem," Tony mused as he absently doodled in the margins of the morning paper's crossword puzzle.

Carrying on as if Stark had never spoken, "And that was before the leukemia." Phil look of barely repressed annoyance could have written a treatise.

"What about locally? Do we know where she lives in the city?" Steve knew he was grasping at straws here, but more than one fugitive had been found after returning home one last time.

Phil scrolled for a moment before settling for whatever was on the screen. "Her last known address for the last five years according to the IRS is in Red Hook, but agents found the home empty with no forwarding address."

"Brooklyn girl, huh?" Steve couldn't help the small smile that stretched across his lips. It was a surprising small comfort in this situation.

"I'll let you know if we find a more current address."

"Anyone reach out to Professor Xavier yet?" Bruce asked as he listlessly stirred his tea. Charles Xavier ran a school for x-gene positive kids (read: mutants) as well as helming the X-Men. Generally speaking their goals and SHIELD's were not the same, still, when looking for a mutant who needed help, the Avengers weren't necessarily opposed to reaching out off book.

Maria shook her head. "I'm... going to pretend I didn't hear you ask that." She looked around the table before heaving a deep sigh. "The largest issue is getting to her before the MRAs do."

That did not sound good at all. "We're not going to capture her, right?" Steve demanded, working hard to keep his tone even. "She wasn't hurting anyone when they came to get her, and only reacted when provoked."

Dir. Fury shook his head. "No, right now the goal is containment, but she's dangerous and several people are dead because of her. Federal agents from the Mutant Registration Agency are being sent home to their families in boxes-"

"And ziplock baggies," Clint mumbled into his coffee as he attempted to hide the slight chuckle that accompanied it in a cough. Nat didn't even look at him as she pinched his side to hush him up. "Ow."

Steve could practically hear the Director's teeth grinding down to powder. "The agents are dead and someone is going to have to answer for that."

"The larger problem," Phil stated as he pushed away his tablet and snagged the last bit of apple from the flat of Clint's knife, "is she's now considered a 'Dangerous Mutant'. Every law enforcement agency in the country will be looking for her, not to mention civilians."

"So instead of making the public safer, the Mutant Registration Agency actually made it more dangerous for everyone, especially Delilah." Steve's disgust with the situation was evident.

"She's going to need to get out, and quickly." Nat offered, collecting the crumbs off the table in front of her into a napkin. "The only way for her to survive this is to run, or kill everyone hunting her."

"That's a huge list," Steve noted, getting up to rinse out his coffee mug and place it on the drying rack.

"Not insurmountable," she asserted confidently, "but you're right, it is a lot of people."

He crossed his arms as he looked over his at his friends and colleagues. At this point, it wasn't about the danger Delilah posed, it was about righting a wrong done to her. Her whole life upended on someone else's whim, it wasn't just or fair to her and he wasn't going to be a party to it. "I don't think we can wait for Xavier to reach out. We need to go and ask him directly."

Tony perked right up. "Road Trip!"

"Shotgun!" Clint called at the same time and while the two argued over who would actually be riding shotgun, Bruce and Natasha approached Steve.

"You okay with all of this?" Dr. Banner inquired softly as he washed out his tea cup and dried it with the towel on the counter.

"Not even a little, but this is what we need to do to keep her safe." He wasn't even worried about the peril she posed to the rest of the world; Delilah and her wellbeing were his sole objective.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could do more. I'm going to head back to the lab to see if there's anything we can do to mitigate her situation. It's not much, but hopefully I can find a way to resolve this peacefully for everyone involved."

Steve greatly appreciated the man's gentle approach. "Thanks, Doc. Let me know as soon as you have anything." His friend nodded and then wandered off in the direction of his laboratory.

Nat passed a gentle hand down his arm as she replaced Clint's fruit bowl on the counter. "While you're dealing with Xavier, I will be looking into people who can get her what she needs to flee the country. She can't run if she doesn't have paperwork."

The assassin's network was vast, and Steve had no doubt she could find exactly who she needed to get this job done. If there's one thing he had confidence in, it was his team. "You want backup?"

Her slow smile laid bare a chilling confidence. "Thank you, but no. This is one situation I have well in hand."

* * *

The estate of Charles Xavier, now the Xavier School for Gifted Children, was a complex of Tudor-style buildings on a sprawling acerage. It looked like any of a number of East Coast liberal arts colleges: part F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, part spread out educational campus.

Regardless, as they entered the property, it was easy to miss the intense security of the facility unless you knew what to look for. And Steve definitely knew what to look for. As the home base for the X-Men, it was easily as locked down a fortress as the Avengers Tower.

"Thank you for seeing us, Dr. McCoy," Steve began as they entered the main house. He'd met them at the gate and brought them up, clear on the urgency of their visit.

Hank took them straight through the administration office to the private library where they could have tea and discuss the issue. The blue beast in the lab coat, and shirt with a tie and cufflinks was nothing if not the pinnacle of politeness. He closed the door and took a seat across from him, Tony, and Clint, whose pockets they were going to have to check before they left to make sure he didn't take anything on this jaunt.

"Our records state she came to us when she was fourteen, brought in by her mother who was concerned about her." He poured tea from a delicate porcelain teapot that looked too small and too delicate for his blue paws.

"Imagine that," Tony murmured as he stirred in black and yellow sugar cubes shaped like bees. Parental care and concern had been in short supply in his life and he kind of resented it in other people.

"She wasn't going to abandon her, or anything like that. She simply wanted her daughter to learn to harness and control her gifts and had heard of us through varying means." He picked up a folder that had been laid on a side table and slid on his glasses as he opened it. "She was a sweet, gentle soul, but very, very ill."

Something in Steve's chest ached as Hank slid them her intake pictures of a brown-skinned young girl, with bright eyes and voluminous pigtails, a wide smile that still hadn't seen enough to harden, in a lavender t-shirt and denim skirt. The sturdy-looking heavy metal brace on her leg was visible from just above her knee down to her ankle above her canvas shoes. Even more noticeable was the forearm crutch cuff just below her elbow. There was an inherent sweetness to her that drew him in, which was very similar to his current feelings. "We know some of it. Was her cancer before or after here?"

Hank's tone was melancholy. "She left here after four years to be treated for her first bout of cancer and never returned." He let that information sit before putting the folder aside. "She was in a lot of physical pain."

"Because of her illnesses," Steve filled in, though he didn't know where McCoy was going with this.

Beast nodded. "Yes, exactly. And her physical pain fed her… gift. Pain, stress, anger, all of it strengthens the expression of her mutation."

"So the more pain she's in, the more dangerous she becomes. Excellent." The irony in Tony's voice was practically another presence in the room.

Steve glared at him until he settled back down before addressing Hank. "Dr. McCoy, what can you tell us about her power?"

He sipped the last of his tea and set the cup and saucer on the table with the rest of the china. "We called her 'Thermite' because she burns so hot and so thoroughly. She can burn through the touch of her hands or illuminate her whole being in an aura-type sphere of radiant heat. She has always had incredible self-control, but with a power that strong, sometimes it can get away from her."

"So her aura is like a shield?" Clint asked from the upper rungs of a library ladder across the room as he examined the leatherbound volumes on one of the shelves.

Beast grimaced. "Not quite?" His eyes focused on the middle distance he thought about it and finally sighed. "It doesn't deflect anything, like your shield does, Cap." He nodded at Steve, then focused on Clint again. "More that it absorbs whatever is thrown at her and becomes more potent, stronger."

Tony suddenly looked quite concerned. "How much stronger?"

"Her normal temperature when she's shifted forms previously is somewhere in the neighborhood of 2500⁰, give or take, and though it's been several years since we've seen her, the hottest temperature we'd recorded from her was an aura close to 5100⁰."

Tony stiffened next to him and blinked before carefully setting the china teacup and saucer set down on the table. The deliberateness of his movements concerned Steve, who wasn't used to seeing a man normally so frenetic be so careful. "Celsius or Fahrenheit?" he asked slowly.

Beast's brows drew down in confusion. "Celsius, of course." As a man of science, he knew Tony would know that and clearly had no idea what he was on about.

"I… hmm." He took a deep breath, passed a hand over his mouth, then tried again. "Is there… that is, do you have footage of that? Do you have empirical evidence of that, that I can see?"

"What's wrong?" Clint came back and sat with the group, a battered copy of 'Catcher in the Rye' in his hands.

Hank nodded. "I can get you a tablet and show you the footage if you'd like."

"Please," he nodded sharply. "If you would."

"Tony," Steve waited until the man's dark eyes were on him and he looked distinctly unsettled, "what's the problem?"

He rubbed his forehead in agitation before drawing a hand down his face. "The surface of the sun, as in the _star_, at the center of our _galaxy_, shining in through the window _right fucking now_, is roughly 5500⁰C, give or take," he gritted out through his teeth with growing intensity to his teammate before turning back to Dr. McCoy. "Is that her upper limit?" The exigency in his voice was unmistakable.

"What are you-?"

He held up a hand to forestall Clint's next question, repeating each word with as much clipped enunciation as he could muster. "Is that her upper limit?"

"I have no reason to think it is." Beast shrugged, one massive shoulder rising and falling underneath the fine broadcloth of his suit jacket. "Honestly, I have no reason to think she has one."

"Fuck." All at once, the engineering genius shrank back onto the couch, looking wrung out and spent all of a sudden.

"Tony," Steve asked cautiously, "what are you thinkin'?"

He turned his head with an expression on his face of restrained madness. "Cap, she could burn a hole through the world. _Through_. She could ignite the atmosphere if she so chose. She is an extinction level event waiting to happen."

Steve's mouth went dry at this revelation, but before he could respond, the door to the library opened and Professor Xavier rolled in. He was a man with a pleasant enough face, buttoned up in his perfectly knotted tie and waistcoat, and possessed of the kind of reassuring personality that made people comfortable leaving their children in his care. Of course, that could also have been his telepathy working, but Steve chose to believe the best about him.

"Gentlemen, we have a problem."

* * *

Delilah's grandmother Geraldine's kitchen hadn't changed since the Reagan administration, the front right burner still scalded the milk for hot chocolate and torched the mac n' cheese. The dishwasher was more decoration than appliance. And the two person crayon stick figure family she had drawn at the tender age of seven still hung in a frame just inside the back door by the window over the sink.

The only real change to the tiny bungalow in White Plains was that it was now Aunt Lori's house and, so long as her mother's sister was in Florida visiting her grandkids, would be her base of operations for the next couple hours while she figured her shit out.

Starting with clothes. Bless her aunt, since her daughters moved out, her sartorial tastes had run to… Stevie Nicks at her ethereal witchiest. Complete with wind machine. So while going supernova in the alley in front of the Avengers had incinerated her dress, and well, everything else, she now had something to hide her shame. Yes it was a black peasant blouse that laced up with a corset belt that made her boobs look like cantaloupes, black leggings of questionable opacity, and black spangled UGG knockoffs, but it was better than trying to flee the country naked and barefoot.

That was the only thing left to her. She couldn't go home, and everything was there, all her medications and her spare cane, her books, her whole life. Whoever was looking for her wouldn't have too hard a time finding her new place. Her roommate was a barback at the Velvet Rose and had likely seen everything go down. She was a friend, but Delilah would never ask a friend to cover for her with something like this.

Delilah was so mad at herself, had worked so very hard at keeping track of her pain levels and emotional state and all that was for nothing because, if the morning paper was to be believed, her getting almost abducted and accosted somehow resulted in being Public Enemy Number One. All because she stepped into the audience to meet the cute guy who came in every night.

She could have been backstage, she could have slipped out the back door and fled and no one would have been the wiser. And yet… The tiny smile that curled the corners of her lips couldn't be helped. Captain Frickin' America thought she was beautiful. It was literally the most absurd thing she could imagine.

"Anyone home?" Her mom's voice filled her with relief down to her feet. Since her dad died, it had been just the two of them against the world, and there was no one else Delilah needed more in this moment.

She listened to her mother's movements across the ceiling as she waited in the basement, making sure she was alone before cautiously climbing the stairs. She emerged from the basement door just in time to hug the floor as a can of mixed vegetables that had been winged from the kitchen sailed past her head.

"Christ, Ma! What is wrong with you!" She slowly got to her feet as her mother came out of the kitchen in a defensive stance with another can cocked and ready. The drywall where she'd been standing had a gouge in it from where the can impacted. Her body promised she'd pay for that unguarded reaction later, but then, she was always running a tab.

Her mother's eyes were as wide as saucers. "What's wrong with me?! Delilah June! My God, you scared the life out of me." She clutched the neck of her t-shirt and had yet to really blink.

She snagged the small, dented can off the floor by her feet and walked into the kitchen to throw it away. "I'm sorry, Ma." Her leg stiffened as she stood, but she didn't want to call attention to it and make her mom feel bad.

"You should be! What are you even doing here?" Her mother put down the paper sack of groceries she'd had in her hands and began to unpack. Her mom normally stayed in the family house while her sister was away to watch over the plants and see her doctors at Mt. Sinai.

After tossing the can, she made her way to the fridge for a bottle of water and leaned back against the counter in front of the sink. "I... it's bad, Mama. Really, really bad."

Her mom didn't look at her as she put away the canned goods and the boxes of pasta and things, but nodded with a slight shake of her curls. "I saw the video. You're all over the news. What happened?"

Delilah cracked the seal on the bottle and proceeded to kill half of it in one long sustained swallow. "They found me, Ma." She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth to catch a drop of water that had escaped. "The mutant registration people. I… I don't know how, because I hadn't had an episode in a long time, but they found me and we have to go."

"Go?" Her mother moved around her as she stored the groceries and didn't even stop moving as she pressed a box of cookies into Delilah's hands. "Go where? Did you really do all they said you did?"

As she ran a finger under the seam of the box of Nilla Wafers, a movement in the window over the sink caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. A black sedan she didn't recognize pulled onto the block and parked across the street and up three houses. She didn't see anyone get out but she was more than a little nervous now. Pinching the shiny silver sack inside between her fingers, she opened the cookies and kept a watch on the car. "Mama, he hit me in the face. They tried to kidnap me and hit me _in the face_." There were a lot of indignities she could suffer quietly but that was not one.

Her mother dropped the can she'd been holding and it bounced once off the floor before rolling across the kitchen. "Jesus Christ, Delilah. Are you okay?" She approached her daughter cautiously and turned her chin to see the mark on her cheek that was still visible. Her mother had never batted an eye at her mutation, and had just counseled patience and forbearance for other people who were not as understanding or just outright cruel. Still, the anguish on her mother's face at the cruelty of others visited upon her child ripped chunks out of Delilah's heart.

As she did with most things, she shook off the concern. "I'm fine, Ma." She punctuated her assertion by eating a handful of little cookies. Her mother's eyes narrowed but as all four doors on the sedan down the street opened, she knew they were out of time. "There was a lot going on, and I'll tell you all about it, but we have to go. Now."

Her mom pulled back her hand in confusion. "So you say. Go where, exactly? For how long?"

Watching the group converge on the house, Delilah felt her pulse ratchet up and begin to pound in her ears. "I need you, right now, to go in the basement and lock the door." When her mom opened her mouth, she turned her and pushed her in the direction of the cellar. "Please don't ask questions, I need you to go right now. Hide in the old coal cellar. Repeat what I just said."

Her mom's eyes narrowed but she didn't stop moving. "Hide in the old coal cellar. Got it."

"Thank you." The tension in her body melted a little bit because she knew so long as her mother hid, there was a chance to keep her safe.

Right as she got to the door, she turned and pulled Delilah's head down to kiss her forehead. "Whatever is going on, I love you. Be safe." At the last moment, she pressed the box of cookies into her mother's hands, and closed the door.

Delilah waited until the bolt on the basement clicked into place before pulling a hair tie off her wrist and tying back her long and fluffy locks. So long as it only involved her, she wasn't as inclined to aggression as an offensive strategy. Now that they'd involved her mother? Oh, there would be hell to pay, even if she had to conjure up the gates herself.

First thing she noticed when she stepped out of the front door-aside from every single gun pointed at her-was that these weren't the same thugs as before. They still had boring government rides, but these guys were in suits with sunglasses. She walked down the driveway, mindful of her limp, and never looked back, making it to the sidewalk before one man approached her. He would have been menacing if he hadn't stopped about three feet away like he was worried she had an especially contagious strain of cooties.

Tall enough to make her neck hurt looking at him, at least six and a half feet give or take an inch, with an ill-fitting, off the rack suit and slicked back hair. If ever there was a guy worthy of the 'USDA Random Govt Dude' stamp on his forehead, it was this chucklehead. "That's far enough ma'am. You're under arrest."

"You have a warrant?" She made a point of sounding bored because she knew these guys were especially keyed up.

He dug through his interior jacket pocket and produced an envelope. "This count?"

Imperiously, she held out her hand, making all of the agents there flex a bit. A scrape of boots on rock behind her had her lazily rolling her head in that direction before turning back to the main one with a smirk. "I read it or I fight, and you're standing way too close to me for that to go well for you." She made grabby fingers until he placed the packet in her hand, and when he did, the idiot who thought he'd been creeping stealthily up behind her grabbed her other wrist and slapped on a cuff.

The look of horror at the standard police cuff immediately heating bright red, then white, then sliding off her wrist in a puddle of molten metal was second only to the screaming that came from when she melted the kevlar glove he wore into his flesh. Disinterested in his suffering or the men that dragged him back from the encounter, she read the paperwork in front of her. "That was rude, Agent…?"

"Peterson," the man snapped impatiently.

She nodded and didn't look up from her reading. "That was rude, Agent Peterson, and you don't want to do that again."

"You're under arrest," he repeated, sneering at her but making no move toward her.

Delilah waited, a stalemate, until she heard a scream come from the house. And that's when she decided that mass murder might be the way to go here. Before she could react, however, a man emerged from the car closest to her. The heat in her hands spread up her arms and she was gearing up to literally scorch the earth until they turned her mother loose.

"All right, Miss Ford. That will be quite enough." The voice was calm, dismissive. The kind of voice that raised all her hackles and made her want to pick a fight just because. "This does not have to go badly. You can see now we have the upper hand. With your continued cooperation, your mother will remain unharmed."

She watched as they struggled to drag her mother down the driveway, her mom fighting and kicking the whole way. "I see."

A ghost of a smile passed over his lips. "I appreciate how reasonable you're being. Now, if you'll just get into the car, we'll be off."

"No."

Other than blinking, he didn't move. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm not getting in the car." She kept her tone bland and face impassive, even as the pain began to sing up her back from her leg. She was on a clock, she knew, and her neck down to between her shoulder blades hurt from working to keep her pain under control.

His jaw set, the teeth-grinding was audible. "Perhaps I was unclear. Unless you come along quietly this, as you say, will not go well for your mother. Is that what you really want?"

She smiled wanly, blinking slowly. "I could kill you right here." She knew enough to know that killing the leader of this mob would be enough to throw them into chaos, long enough for her to escape with her mom to regroup.

"And if you do, three more will grow in my place." And suddenly it became clear who she was dealing with. While the group didn't shout 'Hail HYDRA!', the intensity of the situation began to prickle across her skin like sacred fire. T-minus 30 and counting.

"Strong offer, I will say." She casually approached him, and the car, making sure to stand next to the gas tank and far enough away that they couldn't snatch her off her feet. "Here's my counter offer." Delilah put her hand on the door to the gas tank as an unmistakable threat. "How about I fry each of you little HYDRA fucks in your own skin?" The paint beneath her hand began to bubble and she could hear the sizzle and pings of the metal as the heat spread out over the car. "Deep fry you like fucking calamari."

"Not without hurting your mother." The man's facial expression was stony, but his body language had a lot more to say, most of it about running far away from the scary woman with the plasma cutter hands.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the men with her mother stop, well outside of the initial blast radius. Everyone was watching this exchange raptly, and so she decided to keep performing. "I'll chance it." At his daring raised eyebrow, she chuckled softly. "And I could certainly kill enough of you to make it worth my while."

The heat in her hand began to travel up her arm, a familiar feeling of impending painlessness and destruction. It was a choice, often her only choice: agony or annihilation, but the roar she heard was not her own. A moment later a streak of red and gold passed over the scene, coming to a rest floating above her driveway next to her mother.

"Honestly, I like her. She's got style." The voice coming over Iron Man's speakers could have been talking to anyone, but it was enough of a shock to make her withdraw her hand from the car, leaving a five-fingered scorch mark in its place. "Still mad about the Hot Pocket thing, though."

Delilah cocked her head to the side as she regarding him. There was so much wrong and incomprehensible with this situation, it was hard to find a place to begin. "Bygones," she hollered over to him her voice breaking on a slightly hysterical giggle.

"Now, let's start this party over, shall we?" He reached down and placed a hand on her mother's shoulder. "May I?" When she nodded, he deftly scooped her up, her former captors rendered terribly unsure of their next course of action as to this change of fortune. "Yes, well. Here's how this is going to go. We're going to leave, all of us. That means Delilah, her mother, all of us."

"Or?" The man bit out, his face now pale but mottled with concentrated patches of red rage.

"Or," Steve supplied from the roof of the car next to them, bringing all eyes to him. How he'd managed to get up there a mystery she wasn't inclined to ponder. He was glorious, in the suit with his shield on his back, looking every bit the dashing superhero. "We can let her kill you all. Your call. I have preferences, but I'm happy to follow your lead." His blue eyes cut to her shocked face, and again, even behind his cowl, he winked at her. It was the kind of thing that could make her knees melt.

Before anyone could make a move one way or the other, a crack of thunder sounded overhead so loud the concussive waves of it forced her to her knees. "My friends! I am told you are in need of transportation!" Thor wrapped an arm around Cap's waist and then leaned down and scooped up Delilah before taking off and hovering above the scene. Honestly, she would have protested being manhandled as such, but considering her previous situation, she opted for cagey, but stupefied silence.

Iron Man met them in the air with her mother in tow. "Took you long enough, Blondie."

The giant thunder god shrugged. "Humblest apologies, Man of Iron, I had a pressing engagement and arrived as soon as was practicable."

"Guys?" Delilah waited until she had all of their attentions. "I think we should go now."

"Already on it." Tony fired up his repulsors, taking out the vehicles at the front and back of the caravan, enough to buy them some time and breathing room to make their escape.

Taking off in opposite directions, he and Thor regrouped a couple miles away at a deserted gas station where Clint waited, kicked back and snoozing in the driver's seat of Tony's red Audi A5 convertible. It wasn't as flashy as his R8, but then, he was toting three people around instead of just himself.

"I can't believe I left you the keys," Tony groused as he came in for a landing with Meredith in his arms. He set her gently on the ground and lifted his visor, making a show of looking the car over for scratches and dents.

"You make bad decisions," Clint replied with a smile as he hopped out of the driver's seat over the closed door. "It's kind of your thing." His attention shifted to Delilah's mom and he offered her his hand. "Clint Barton, good to meet you."

Meredith's grin was strained as she tentatively too his hand and shook it once. "Likewise." The moment Thor touched down, she was right by Delilah's side. She grabbed her head with both hands and kissed her forehead. "Baby, are you okay?"

She couldn't help her soft snort of amusement. She brings armed gunmen to the house and almost massacred a neighborhood including her mother, and her mom was concerned about _her _wellbeing. "I'm good, Ma. I swear. I'm so sorry." Her leg and back didn't hurt, but she suspected that was a temporary situation until her adrenaline still burning through her veins like jet fuel settled down.

"None of this is your fault, baby." The way she held her head, she forced Delilah to look at her and didn't let go until she nodded. "Good. Now that that's settled, why are the Avengers here?"

The guys, who'd moved around to the other side of the car to give them some privacy, rejoined them cautiously. Tony reached them first and had changed out of the suit into an old Stones t-shirt and jeans. "There wasn't time for introductions earlier. Tony Stark, billionaire genius. Or genius billionaire. The order's not really important."

Meredith's lips twitched as she shook his outstretched hand. "Meredith Ford, former HYDRA hostage." She looked over his shoulder at Steve and Thor. "Thank you," she addressed all of them, "for showing up when you did."

Thor's smile was almost as intense as his loud voice. "I am pleased to be able to assist you in your time of need." Delilah marveled at her mother's ability to roll with the punches. It wasn't often, well ever really, one was addressed by a god. Kind of a big deal and very strange, yet her smile was just the same.

"Least we could do, ma'am." The slight flush that spread across Steve's cheekbones was absolutely endearing. He'd taken off his cowl and now in just the uniform looked like the hottest action figure she'd ever seen. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ford."

Delilah caught her mother's sly smile before she faced Captain America head on and took his outstretched hand in both of hers. She _might_ have told her mother about the 'mystery white boy' coming to watch her sing. Her mama was no dummy and raised no dummies either. "You as well, Captain."

His shy smile made her hands itch and she had to actively remind herself that this was not the venue for reaching out to touch him. Not that there ever really was an appropriate location to molest an American Icon, but still, in front of his friends was definitely off that list.

The hum of a car engine in the distance grew into a growl as it approached, putting everyone on their guard. Everyone but Clint. It was a boxy, nondescript grey SUV with a familiar redhead behind the wheel. Natasha slowed down but left the engine running as she threw open the passenger door.

"Okay," Clint clapped his hands bringing everyone's attention to him as he straightened away from where he was leaning against Tony's Audi. "Let's roll out." He grabbed the large briefcase that had been by Tony's feet and walked around to toss it in the back of the truck.

Tony's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Why wouldn't we just take the-" Clint's elbow clarified things quickly. He looked meaningfully between Cap and Delilah with a hand out like a demonstration model as he held the door for Meredith.

"Let's move, boys!" Nat called from the driver's seat, and rather than waiting for Iron Man to pick up the social cues, Clint just hustled them into the car.

"Meet us back at the tower," he called over his shoulder to Thor as he trundled Tony into the backseat and followed behind him.

Thor nodded as the truck peeled off. The thunder god shifted his attention to the couple by the car. "Will you be there as well, Captain?"

Steve's eyes never left hers. "We'll be along shortly."

"Lady Delilah," Thor acknowledged her right before he took off, leaving the two of them alone on the side of the road.

"Hiya, doll," Steve whispered, like he almost couldn't believe she was actually real.

"Hi back." Delilah bit her lip as she leaned back against the passenger door of the car. Maybe it was the shock, or the adrenaline, she couldn't say, but when Steve came over to open her car door for her, she knew she needed to do one more thing before they left.

He was close, so close she could smell his cologne, feel the warmth of his body, even under the uniform, the commanding calm he exuded was so intense she wanted to curl up in his lap and purr. Instead she hooked a finger in his collar and shifted closer to him. He met her halfway as his lips crashed down on hers, more passionate than elegant, it was a kiss of confirmation, affirmation.

His strong body pressed to hers, the way he kissed her had to practically bent over the door and leaning into the passenger seat. He framed her jaw with his hand, with the other around her waist holding her up and against him like she weighed nothing at all.

His lips were so soft, so agile as they moved over hers, like he'd been thinking about this a lot and had been dying for the practice. She whimpered softly as his tongue tentatively brushed against her full bottom lip, turning up the heat as the kiss deepened.

Warm as she was, she was surprised his uniform wasn't smoking. When he pulled back for them to take a breath, he rested his forehead against hers, passed his thumb over her parted lips. "Hi," he repeated softly, a shuddering huff of breath against her lips that made her smile. His blue eyes were so dark, so intense when they met hers, a frisson of arousal shimmered under skin.

"Hi back." She licked her lips, and his eyes tracked the motion before meeting hers again. "I'm sorry for-" Steve rushed to cover her mouth with his again, swallowing the rest of her words as his hand slid to cup her neck to deepen the kiss. His growl of pleasure shot through her and made her very aware of how badly she wanted to forget her responsibilities and just lose herself in an afternoon of carnal delight with her 'mystery white boy'. Everything about her life had been thrown into chaos and he, this superhero who loved her music, was an anchor point in the storm.

Steve had no idea why Delilah would want to apologize, and honestly, didn't care. And the kiss, the desire he had to make sure she was okay combined with a spark of wildness that was intrinsically her, left him shaken in his soul. She was incredible, so soft, so sensual… so perfect it was alarmingly easy for him to think about casting aside the things that needed to happen in favor of just another minute with her. With a deep breath, he pulled back slowly, his every breath filled with her, her taste still on his lips. It was an addiction. Gradually he became aware of her hands, one fisted in his shirt against his chest and the other tangled in the fabric at his waist, as he straightened both of them up, though he never let her go. "Whatever you're apologizing for, don't."

Delilah snickered quietly and nodded once. She blinked up at him, dark eyes hazy after the kiss clearing to a certain wariness, but he couldn't bring himself to move away from her. The hand that held her face slid down her arm. "Are you really okay?" Steve asked softly. He took both her hands in his, his thumbs rubbing back and forth across her knuckles.

She frowned and looked down at their joined hands. There wasn't really a way to succinctly express her terror, relief, joy, and growing physical discomfort, so she went with her old standby. "I... don't know. I'm... fine? I guess." There was one thing she couldn't sort out though "How did you find me so soon? Did you have me tagged or something?"

"Not quite." He smiled and brushed his nose against hers. Stepping away, he drove both his hands through his hair as he sighed deeply. He seemed as relieved as she felt. "We were looking for you, actually, and meeting with Dr. Hank McCoy. I didn't want those guys chasing you the other night to find you first. I had no idea about HYDRA."

At the mention of the bar incident, she felt a flush that started somewhere around her toes and burst all over her body. Mortified didn't even begin to cover it. "I'm sorry… about that scene in the bar." She spoke to the toes of her shoes as she dug them into the ground. "I know you weren't hurt or anything but I feel bad that you somehow got dragged into this."

He ran a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide his smile. "There are worse places to be, trust me. Besides, it's not like you needed rescuing." He nudged her shoulder with an affectionate smile as he opened the car door for her.

Her scowl was just for show as she slid onto the luxurious leather seat. "I suppose not. More like you rescued them, really."

"Uh huh." Steve hustled around the back of the car and hopped inside next to her. He fired up the engine and peeled out in a spray of gravel. The convertible top unfurled with the touch of a button sealing them in to a luxurious cocoon as they drove.

"They're rude enough, I bet they won't even thank you." She snuggled back in the seat and crossed her arms as she stared out the window.

He smirked and turned on the radio. It took him a moment to fight with the presets before conceding defeat. "Probably not."

"Irredeemably rude." She was quiet for so long, he would have wondered if she had drifted off if he didn't hear her softly singing along to the music on the radio. It wasn't the type he was used to from her, but her gift wasn't particular and every song sounded golden to his enhanced ears. "How's Hank been?"

"It wasn't really a social call, but he seemed well enough." As well as a man covered in blue fur could be.

Delilah hummed and relaxed against the headrest with her eyes closed. "I'm glad." She hummed along with the music for a moment before turning her head to him with a soft smile. "He was a very good teacher, and very kind. Never made me feel 'less than', even though I clearly was… at least physically." As present as her shadow, her body's frailties, shortcomings, and size were always ghosts that could not be exorcised.

She didn't miss Steve's side-eye perusal of her from head to her black sequined toes, or the accompanying sensual grin that slid across his lips. "I might argue to the contrary," he offered.

"Noted." Her nose twitched with a tiny indulgent grin. For a man who'd seen so much, he was clearly a bit touched in the head, but it was nice that he thought of her like that. At least for long as it lasts. Guys like him-beautiful, _whole_-in the mythically rare instance they _were_ interested, were only here for a good time, never a long time, and honestly? She didn't have a whole lot of room in her life for either kind of time right now.

The scenery transitioned as they proceeded from Westchester County into the city, and the anxiety of her situation reasserted itself abruptly. "So you're taking me to my mom or something?"

He nodded as he watched traffic. "Yeah. We'll get you both someplace safe and then we'll figure out what happens from here." At the stop light, he shifted in his seat to look at her and took her hand. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you."

Delilah gave him a tired smile as she looked down at their joined hands. "I'm not worried about me." She sighed as they drove over the George Washington Bridge into Manhattan. "I'm… uniquely indestructible. In spite of myself." She trailed off with a slightly cynical laugh. "My mom, however... My mom is all I have left. She's the one that needs to be kept safe. Everything else is inconsequential."

Steve squeezed her hand before reaching over to shift gears. 'Family above all else' was a sentiment he could absolutely get behind. "Copy that."


	3. Chapter 3

Steve was surprised when he pulled into the garage for the Avengers Tower that they weren't intercepted at the gate by a SHIELD strike team. He knew Fury would be incensed that they didn't head straight to HQ, but looking at Delilah, with her full lips pressed into a tight line, strain bracketing her mouth, he made the executive decision that she needed rest before confronting the Director.

Riding up the elevator, they both lapsed into a comfortable silence. She'd pretty much withdrawn into herself as much as she could and he didn't want to stress her out further. Not knowing what else to do, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and though she didn't say anything, she leaned into him gratefully.

"Captain Rogers?" The building AI spoke up when they were halfway to the common floor of the private residences. Even though he was a computer he sounded almost, reluctant.

"Yes, Jarvis?"

"Sir, I know that Director Fury is very eager to make the acquaintance of Ms. Ford."

It was hard to keep the irritation out of his voice as Steve responded. "And I told him on the phone he would see her first thing in the morning because she needed to rest."

The elevator slowed slightly and a disquieting silence stretched between his response and Jarvis. "I don't believe he was clear on that," the disembodied butler noted lightly. "He is on the communal floor right now and planning to meet you at the elevator."

"Yay." He knew it was asking too much to expect Fury to wait. He looked down at Delilah, in her borrowed clothes and some of her wispy curls escaping her ponytail to frame her face and make her look so much younger. Her lack of reaction was concerning, but regardless of what happened-and he'd been around long enough to have a sixth sense for 'impending fiasco', he'd be there to face it with her. "Two floors to go," he murmured with his lips against the top of her head, and felt her nod slightly.

"Who's Jarvis?" Delilah's voice was soft against his side, the strain of the day making itself known.

Hell, he hadn't even thought about it when he spoke to the computer, it was so normal to him now. "Right. Um, Jarvis is our…" He didn't want to use the word 'butler' because he was so much more than that, but he wasn't quite sure how to explain it. "He's kind of our computerized secretary, I guess? He takes care of the building and us." Her dark eyes blinking up owlishly didn't fill him with confidence that he'd explained well, but he wasn't versed enough in the tech to talk about it like Tony did. "Um, Jarvis? This is Miss Delilah Ford, she'll be staying with us for a while."

"Captain Rogers, Sir already informed me that she and her mother would be our guests for a time. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Ford. I am the building's artificial intelligence, and if you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you? I think?"

At her look of concern, he explained further, "He's our eye in the sky."

Surprisingly, that settled her right down. "Oh, like Alan Parsons Project. Okay." He had no idea what that was, but if she was good with it, he could be, too. Plus the elevator dinged and he had other things to think about.

The doors opened, and Fury stood there tall and imperious, his full coat unfurled and on full display even though it was a good 60⁰ outside.

"Cap, Miss Ford." He smiled like he was welcoming them home and Steve barely concealed his irritation.

"Director," he acknowledged the man as they stepped off the elevator, his hand protectively on her back. Behind Fury and off to the side stood Phil, looking fresh and pressed in his usual immaculate slate suit and muted tie, if a bit apologetic. He had the kind of face that allowed him to hold entire conversations without ever having to open his mouth.

Phil held out his hand and looked a modicum more cordial. "Miss Ford, my name is Phil Coulson. You put on a fantastic show. Your voice is incredible."

His smile was warm and she seemed to take to him immediately as she shook his hand. "That's so nice to hear! Thank you, Mr.-"

"Agent, actually, ma'am," he corrected gently.

"Oh." Her cheeks darkened. "_Agent_ Coulson. Apologies." She turned to Fury, looking bone tired, but also here to take no prisoners. "And you would be director of…" she trailed off expectantly.

"SHIELD, Miss Ford. And I need to, the agency needs to, have a conversation with you about the events of the last two days."

"I see." She closed her eyes and slowly blew out a deep breath before looking him in the face again. "I don't suppose this could wait until tomorrow morning, yes?"

"It really can't, Ms. Ford." Fury wasn't trying to be a hardass, it was as natural to him as breathing.

Steve could feel that she was leaning on him for support more and more, and she'd gone from simply leaning against him to having an arm around his waist and pressing close to him like she was using him to hold her up. And for whatever reason, her temperature seemed to rise as well. Not badly or dangerously, but certainly enough that he could notice.

"No really, I would _really _like to put this off, if we possibly could, for just a few hours," she tried again.

Fury's eyes widened at her audacity in speaking to him like a human being of equal standing. "People are _dead_, Ms. Ford. This is not that type of situation."

Delilah stood up straighter, but Steve could feel the strain vibrating through her body. "I am…" she looked deeper into the room for a second, the murmurs of conversations and laughter coming from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen, before bringing her very strained attention back to the Director, "reasonably certain I don't give a fuck, sir."

"And if I don't acquiesce?" His smile looked like a viper's and Steve bristled against his immediate reaction to step between him and Delilah. So far she was holding her own, but the moment she couldn't, he was there for her. "You'll… what? Turn this floor into the biggest barbecue joint on the East Coast?"

Her growl was audible only to Steve and he kept a hand on her back, even though he agreed with her anger at the uncalled for remark. "Look," she held up a single finger, "I'm exhausted. I've flared up more in the last two days than I have in the last five years. I've worked very hard to stay out of trouble and under the radar. I am _smoked_." She didn't even acknowledge her own pun and held up a second finger. "Point two, I'm a vegetarian. I don't even _like _barbecue." Her lip curled into a vicious sneer as she continued. "For reasons I'm sure you can guess, the smells of cooked and smoked meats and/or burning hair are upsetting to me."

Cap's eyes met Phil's as he passed a hand over his mouth and attempted to hid his grin at Fury's deepening glower. He was backed into a corner and he knew it. He wasn't just _not _going to win this, he was going to have to concede with grace, because she wasn't fighting him about appearing, but asking for a perfectly reasonable delay and there were witnesses.

"I'd just like to get, like, twelve hours of sleep. Sleep, my meds, and my mother, not even in that order. You don't even have to feed me." Delilah shifted and stretched her arms over her head, her back releasing in a series of unnerving pops and crackles. "And then we can discuss whatever you'd like. The current geopolitical climate of Europe, the rise of fascism, a comparison of the Pre-Raphaelite and Art Nouveau movements. I don't care." Steve blinked in interest at that last one, and Phil pursed his lips to keep from snorting in amusement.

When Fury just stood there mute, she shook her head in disappointment. "Am I under arrest?" she demanded quietly.

That pulled him up short, quickly. "That remains to be seen," Fury growled.

"Am I. Under. Arrest?"

The soft way she spoke, the fatigue pulled at every single word, and Steve could tell she was just… done. He shifted next to her, his arm snugged up around her waist both as moral support and to hold her up in case her legs walked off the job.

Coulson stepped up then. "Not at the moment, no."

"Then may I please, pretty please, with sugar on top, see my mother? Then I would like to find a flat surface on which I may lay and sleep for the next year. Is that okay?" Her arch tone and overly wordy request was delivered with a straight face that almost broke Coulson, whose neutral expression was only maintained through sheer force of will and a bit of lip twitching. It was a thing of beauty.

Looking like he'd swallowed the harshest lemon ever, Fury demurred, cowed in the face of relentless politeness. "I'll see you in my office at 8AM sharp."

Delilah threw up a hand as she passed the two men to proceed into the living space. The common area was the size of her aunt's house and whole yard put together. It was all sleek lines and modern furniture, from the sitting area with the large sectional couch that looked like he could seat most of a third grade class, to the bar with the silver Sputnik lights overhead, a kitchen that could cater a superhero convention, and the exterior wall was floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the most amazing view of the city she could imagine. The whole place was an overwhelming work of art.

In the sitting area across from the well-appointed kitchen, Meredith was engaged in an animated conversation with Natasha, Bruce and Thor, while drinking tea and eating biscotti. It was surprisingly cozy.

Tony was behind the bar watching the whole thing, and the moment she came in the room on Steve's arm, he stalked over to them. "Look, I don't know what Cyclops said, and I don't care. You're safe here, your mother is safe here. Nothing is going to happen to her here, all right? I don't want you to worry about that at all, but please," his dark eyes looked so serious Steve perked up, "_don't tear up my building._ That's kinda my job and I take it personally when people move in on my destructive territory."

He looked a little manic when he said it, and she amused herself with a little giggle because that was really not where she expected that to go at all. "I'm not here for any of that at all," she assured him, "I'm just here for my mama."

At the sound of her voice, her mother's head snapped up and she ran over to her, wrapping her in a tight hug. "It's gonna be okay. I'm gonna fix this. Everything's gonna be fine." Delilah didn't know if she was reassuring herself or Meredith, she just knew the words needed to be said.

Steve stepped back from the scene and over to Tony. "Do you have anywhere they can be?" he asked meaningfully.

Struck by the deep affection of the embrace in front of him, Tony nodded absently. "Oh. Yeah, of course."

After Steve accompanied them, at Jarvis' direction, to the guest rooms just off the communal living room, he went up to his apartment to change out of his suit and clean up before rejoining Tony at the bar.

"This isn't going to be a problem, is it?" Tony asked as he wiped the gleaming marble surface of the bar before setting down a coaster for his friend.

"It's not," Cap assured him as he pulled up a stool and looked back over the room. The conversation on the couch was still going on, just at a lower volume in deference to their guests down the hall. Clint had wandered into the kitchen and was rummaging through the fridge. This was, for better or for worse, home, and he hoped that this would bring the safety and peace that Delilah and her mom needed. It was the least he could do. "You missed the floor show, by the way."

"Oh?" Tony was reorganizing his bottles and checking his inventory just to have something to do. Not that he couldn't have Jarvis do it, but it was a way to relax and keep an eye on everyone in the face of these new unknown quantities.

"Delilah managed to tell off Fury in quite possibly the most polite, pleasant way possible. It was amazing."

Coulson appeared over his shoulder, reaching over the bar and snagging a can of cold pineapple juice. "He's right. You might want to check the footage on it. It's worth it." He then wandered over to the kitchen to join Clint after tossing his jacket over the back of a dining room chair.

Tony was kind of dumbstruck at the very idea of this newcomer scoring so soon. "Well, damn. I'm sorry I missed that." He held up a bottle for Cap and popped off the lid when he nodded.

"I appreciate this," he said as he accepted the beer his friend offered him from the cooler under the counter. "Taking her in and looking after her. I'm grateful and I know she is as well."

"I should be mad at you, you know," Tony replied as he dropped more ice cubes in his tumbler and poured out another couple fingers of scotch. At Steve's raised eyebrow, he shrugged and sipped his drink. "You _did_ bring a thermonuclear weapon into the house."

Steve killed half his beer in a one long drink, wiping his lips on the back of his hand. "You act like she's the only thing in this building that qualifies."

Tony blinked at Cap, completely unprepared for his dry sarcasm. "Was… was that _sass_? Is that a thing now?"

"Maybe." He chuckled softly and blinked slowly, feeling the exhaustion of the situation begin to settle in to his bones, too. "I'm tired, she's tired. She poses no threat, and I'm tired of explaining that today."

"I get it." Tony came around to join him on a stool. He leaned forward and spoke quietly. "So what's the plan here?"

Steve sipped for a moment and shrugged. "Keep her here until we have a better idea?"

"A better idea of what?"

Steve drove his fingers through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck in irritation. Not at Tony, but this situation was beyond unfair in his mind. Arrested or not, she was a prisoner there until they found a solution to her problems. "Of what this looks like going forward. We can't let her go home. Her whole life is there, her medication, her clothes, her cane…" He trailed off as he swallowed hard. "She doesn't even have her cane, Tony."

Tony frowned and looked toward the hallway remembering the way she limped down the hallway with her mother. "How bad is it?"

Steve sighed and watched the ring of condensation collect on the coaster for a moment before answering. "You saw her walk, Tony." Feeling her literally fade away on him touched him deeply. He remembered his life before the serum, the feelings of being perpetually tired, feeling useless, 'less than' as she'd called it. Somehow he'd fix this situation, make it right for her beyond this custodial here and now. Delilah and her mother both deserved better, and he would find a way to get it to them.

Tony hummed as he sipped and watched the room. Bruce had wandered in from his lab and joined Clint and Phil in the kitchen, and Thor and Nat were calling in requests from the couch. It was so… normal. Seemingly having made a decision, he threw back the rest of his whiskey and set his glass down on the bar with enough force to jostle the now denuded ice cubes. "Go take care of her, Cap. Don't worry about us, I'll take care of this end." It was moments like this that Tony sounded like he might be flirting with being a responsible adult.

Not wanting to discourage this urge, Steve drained his beer and left the bottle on the counter. "Thank you, Tony." He then grabbed an apple and a bottle of water and headed down to the guest rooms to check on Delilah and Meredith.

* * *

Delilah had crashed as soon as Steve showed her the bed. It wasn't flirty or sexy, but so necessary, and he'd held up the blankets as she fell sideways into the sweet embrace of a soft, flat surface. Her whole body was in an uproar, the kind she knew would take days to recover from, if not longer.

The pain won over dinner, and she'd stayed in bed instead of having food because of both effort and nausea. The pain won over even getting out of her clothes, besides the boots. Not that she'd had anything else to wear. The boots, however, were too hot and terrible and she was over them. She was used to that, though. The pain wins. The pain _always_ wins.

But now, with her mother asleep in the room across the hall, and, as she'd discovered accidentally on her way through their sitting room, Steve's big body stretched out across the couch, she was starving. She'd remembered her mother mentioning something about a caprese salad at dinner, but since their rooms didn't have a fridge, she knew that her finite amount of energy and coordination would be best used dragging her carcass out to the shared kitchen.

Thankful for a wall to lean against, and the very minimal ground lighting that seemed to sense her presence, she followed the path of the hallway back out to the very dimly lit kitchen, only to find that she wasn't alone. Sitting at the table was a slightly disheveled guy with messy hair and glasses, wearing a wrinkled bluish t-shirt and some plaid pajama pants, hunched over as he read something intently with a pen in his mouth.

He looked up at her shuffling, doing her best to make it to the breakfast bar before something failed on her. Like a knee.

"Hi," he said softly, in deference to the late hour and the overall encroaching darkness. "You must be Delilah. I'm Bruce."

"Nice to meet you, Bruce." Her eyes cut to him briefly before returning to focus on the breakfast island. At this point, she was going on sheer will alone, and man, was that excruciating.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He stood up and helped her over to the kitchen table and sat her down across from him. It was farther from the fridge than she'd prefer, but she could rest and start again shortly. "May I get you anything?" He gestured to his mug with a chain hanging out of it.

"No. Thank you." He nodded and headed over to the stove to retrieve the kettle and pour himself more hot water for tea. She watched his methodical work and felt herself relax. Something about him just infused her with an odd sense of peace and tranquility. Just a little bit longer, and she could take a run at the fridge and finding dinner.

Finally, she took a deep breath and pushed herself to her feet, taking a moment to stabilize before embarking on her trek for dinner. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bruce almost get up before stopping himself. She appreciated his restraint.

True to her word, her mother had left a caprese salad with balsamic vinaigrette in a box with her name on it on the second shelf. From her favorite Italian place on Mulberry and Broome in Little Italy. It was comforting like a hug, and she tucked a bottle of water under her arm, ready to set out on the hunt for silverware.

"Top drawer to the right of the dishwasher," Bruce muttered without looking up from his work.

"Thanks." She grabbed a fork and hustled back to the table, knowing she was on a clock, movement wise. Every damn movement was a negotiation with a time limit. She gratefully dug into her cold, cold tomatoes, basil, and mozzarella and embraced the silence.

"There's cannoli, if no one told you." She wasn't proud of the sound she made when he informed her of this, but he laughed it off. "Clint called dibs on yours, but Cap hid it from him."

"Bless him," she responded and her dinner companion chuckled as he got up and went to the fridge, only to emerge with a white paper bag with promising looking grease stains on the bottom. He set out one for her and then returned to his side of the table to enjoy his. "Thanks, Dr. Banner."

He gave her a timid smile as he nodded his acknowledgement. "Bruce is fine." She smiled a little and silence fell between them in the early morning hours as she ate and he worked.

"I enjoyed your paper on tumor-associated immunosuppression." Her voice sounded extra loud across the table even though she spoke to her plate. She heard, rather than saw, him set his pen down and look at her.

"You read it, the one on applied antigens and targeted therapy?" The disbelief in his voice was clear but then, the topic wasn't quite the casual smalltalk that most people were accustomed to.

"Yeah. I really liked your forward-thinking approach and it looks like a very promising field." She dug the cannoli out of the bag and wondered if it would still be there in the morning if she put it away to eat later. Probably not. "I… it came out… there was a story about it on NPR Science Edition and it sounded interesting so I looked it up." She ventured a look across the table and he was an amusing combination of 'flattered' and 'flattened'.

"I-I'm…" he trailed off with a slightly confused chuckle as he pulled off his glasses and wiped the lenses down with the bottom of his t-shirt. "I'm glad you could get something from it."

"It came out when I was…" she let the sentence go, because this wasn't a short topic nor something to just drop on someone in the middle of the night over a midnight snack. "It was great and you're going to save a lot of people."

"I hope so." He settled his glasses on his nose and checked the contents of his mug. "Makes up for…"

He didn't finish the thought, but he didn't really have to. "People like us, you and me, sometimes we have a lot to make up for."

"Sometimes." Bruce's shoulder rose and fell in a halfhearted shrug. "And it's not always our fault."

She nodded, conceding the point. "True, but when who you are-what you are-poses a danger to everyone in your immediate vicinity… or the Eastern Seaboard… sometimes we have to work harder to make up for that…" she sighed and drank her water as she worked on coalescing her thoughts. "It's like everything in my life revolves around not letting that part of myself show, by any means necessary. Not slipping up and someone gets hurt, because that's what happens when I'm not vigilant. Vigilance is… depleting. I'm terrified and I'm exhausted. Do you ever get that way?"

He started nodding halfway through her rambling. "All the time. I spend so much time living in fear of the next time the other guy shows up, doing everything I can to hold him off a little longer, it's hard for me to remember to enjoy the rest of it. It's hard to find joy in the rest of it." He got up with his mug and went to the sink to rinse it out, returning with two more bottles of water. "So how do you do it?" He slid one across the table and regarded her closely.

"Thank you." She killed her bottle and dutifully cracked the next. If she couldn't stay medicated, hydrated was the next best thing. "How do I do what?"

"Keep the wolves at bay, so to speak. Five years without a reaction is a helluva track record." His half smile was sleepy, but he sounded impressed with her.

Delilah blew out a breath very slowly and stared at her hands as she thought about it. "Honestly? I work very, very hard at keeping the calculus of immolation balanced. The pain is medicated, I use a cane, I don't normally get angry. Or at least, I don't let myself get the kind of angry that can tempt me into letting go."

He cocked his head, his inherent curiosity clearly roused. "Tempt you?"

"Hell yeah," she scoffed. "Of course. It's easier, it's infinitely easier."

"How so?"

"I don't know if you find this to be the case, but it's easier for me to let the rage drive. It's so much easier to let the destruction happen and let the fuck go. I don't hurt, I don't have to walk, it's blissful release of my everyday travails. It's terrifying how easy it would be for me to just be… When I change… I'm not me anymore. I'm not damaged, crippled, frail, fragile me. 'Now I am become Death…'"

"Destroyer of worlds," Bruce muttered with a rueful grin. "Oppenheimer. Appropriate."

"Blast hot enough to burn the sky." She stretched her arms over her head, and then took the box that had housed her leftovers and her empty water bottle to the recycling bin. "You don't feel that way?" She asked the question, then she blanched, sliding back into her seat. "I'm sorry. That was…" She pressed her lips together and sighed through her nose before trying again. "I'm sorry for being rude. I just… It's not often I have a chance to talk to someone like me." Bruce's only reply was a raised eyebrow. "I mean, someone who changes. And not just changes, but becomes a force of nature. Capable of incredible destruction, when really, we're just regular people trying to get through our lives."

The doctor laughed softly and held up his bottle in tribute before taking a long swig. "It wasn't rude. I get it. And yes, there are definitely some days when it would just be easier, less taxing physically and emotionally, to just let it be and what happens, happens. I also expend a lot a time and energy in maintaining, just maintaining, my presence, my quiet. And yet, at the same time, the other guy does serve a purpose as well. As much as there's destruction, he also is instrumental in a great amount of _good_ in the world, if that makes sense. It's about finding a way to balance the two.

"The biggest difference is that I have the blessing, and curse, of being here." he gestured around the room with a careless hand. "The Avengers, for better or worse, have made it infinitely easier for me to learn to live with the other guy. More or less peacefully. It's a process…" he trailed off and looked out the window as the sun chased a bright line across the horizon, delineating the skyline from the darkness. "The difference between us, and those we fight?" She hummed an interrogatory but other than that, didn't reply. "We put in the effort. We're the ones who think of other people in relation to ourselves. We give a damn about what happens after... because there's always an after. And we have to live with it."

The sound of feet on the tile floor brought both of their attention to the hallway where her room was, and found Cap, in all his sleep pants and unreasonably tight t-shirted glory, wandering out into the common area yawning and sleepily scratching his stomach.

"Mornin', Delilah, Dr. Banner." Steve detoured to the fridge and Bruce rose and stretched his back with his arms over his head.

"Morning, Cap." Bruce gave him a tired smile as he collected his work and stuck his pen behind his ear. "I'm off to bed if anyone needs me. It was lovely to meet you, Delilah."

"Likewise, Bruce." She watched him head off into the receding darkness over by the elevators before turning her attention back to Steve. The tiredness had returned, with reinforcements, but the fingers of sunlight that began to spear across the sky and spread told her sleep was not on the agenda. "Hi," she whispered as he took the chair next to her and pulled it close as he sat down with his coffee. Seeing him up close was still mindblowing to her.

"Hi back," he murmured as he stretched an arm across the back of her chair and leaned in close. "You're up early. You feeling okay?"

She hummed an assent and closed her eyes. He was still sleep-warm, and it was no hardship at all to cuddle up next to him with her head on his shoulder. "I'm alive. Stiff, sore, the usual. Just came out here because I was hungry and talked to Bruce for a while."

Steve rubbed her arm and just enjoyed having her close to him in the relative privacy of the early morning hours. "Dr. Banner is a pretty interesting guy." He didn't want to say it out loud, but he was glad she had found in him a kindred, someone who could truly see things from her perspective. Everyone needs that.

"He is," she agreed, then did her best to fight off a jaw-popping yawn. "We have a fair bit in common."

At her confirmation of his thoughts, he grinned but hid it behind his mug. "I could see that." He sipped his coffee and they watched as the sun began to peek over the tops of the skyline and fill the room with glorious golden light. "You know know whatever happens today, we're going to figure it out, right?"

Delilah took a deep breath and let it out slowly, ending on something not unlike a purr. "I'm not sure your optimism is warranted, but I appreciate it all the same." It was tempting, so tempting to just absorb his calmness and strength and let that lull her back to sleep. But with the light came the need to get ready for her day. While she'd been able to put Dir. Fury off for a little while, her weapons-grade manners wouldn't get her nearly as far today.

As she dozed lightly, she felt herself flying and when she came back to consciousness as such, she found that they'd migrated couch. Steve had sprawled against one corner, and collected her with her head pillowed on his chest. It was the most comfortable she'd been in a long damn time. She hummed a happy little noise and sighed, content to slip off for another few minutes of sleep until her day truly began.

"You know," his voice was a deep rumble in his that she felt as well as heard, "you keep falling asleep on me and I might start taking it personal."

His teasing made her laugh softly. "Stop being so warm and smelling so good and I'll think about it." Delilah patted his chest and he chuckled as he read the news on his phone. Normally he would have prefered the actual, physical newspaper, but he was occasionally willing to make an exception.

The quiet was short-lived as the daybreak brought an alert that a HYDRA base had been spotted outside of Lancaster, PA. It wasn't confirmed, but Cap, Thor, Nat, and Clint had to leave to check it out, leaving Delilah to get ready for her interview alone.

By the time the sound and fury stumbled into the common area from his workshop, Phil was drinking coffee at the dining room table and working the sudoku puzzle in pen. He was there to escort Delilah in, and had brought some clothes and things the SHIELD agents had gotten when they'd located her roommate and searched her apartment.

"Oh good, you're here," he threw out in passing as he made his way to the coffee trough. "I need-" he only paused long enough to top off his cup with some high test before making a beeline back to the table. "How long are you going to be here? I'm waiting on powder coat to cure, and it's almost done, but I wanted to get it to you before you leave."

Phil blinked up at him and didn't answer for a moment as he processed Tony's babble. "Those certainly were words. And it even appears they were in sentences. However, I fail to see-"

"Her cane," Tony replied impatiently as he shifted from foot to foot next to him at the table. In his 'engineering mode' he was allergic to slowing down long enough to use a chair. "Did your people find her cane?" At the agent's blinking response, he threw up a hand and raked it roughly through his hair. "Oh for fuck's- Have you seen her walk? What is wrong with-? You know what? Nevermind." He finished his coffee in one swallow and held up an irritated finger. "Just don't leave until I get back." He stalked out of the room, just missing Delilah's mom.

Meredith emerged from the guest suite then, drawn by the commotion in the common area. "Agent Coulson."

"Ma'am." Phil's manners had him on his feet in a second, getting her chair, smooth as Cary Grant.

* * *

A grappling hook, a flamethrower, and an EM gun.

Tony Stark was a lot of things, several of them unpleasant, however, deep down, he really wasn't unkind. He was also the reason she was running late to her meeting with Director Fury. The upshot was she now had a super tricked out, StarkIndustries prototype forearm cane, with glittery flames and 'Hot Pocket' stenciled down the side, that also happened to be armed with a grappling hook, electromagnetic pulse gun, and oddly enough, a flamethrower. She wasn't sure why he felt she needed those things, but she appreciated his thoughtfulness all the same. Its inherent wildness didn't match her very staid navy blue swing dress that made her feel like Audrey Hepburn, but incongruous was an ongoing theme in her life.

She laughed softly as she proceeded down the halls of SHIELD HQ to the interrogation room accompanied by Agent Coulson and a tall woman with deep brown skin and a long straight ponytail who was supposed to be a member of SHIELD medical according to her uniform. Not that she needed medical attention since Phil had located her meds and she'd taken them. It would be a couple days until she was fully balanced back out, but at least she didn't have to worry about that. Not for the first time, she lamented not just going backstage and leaving.

The room they took her to was windowless until she entered, and Fury was already seated at the table with a fairly thick file in front of him. The walls, table, and chairs were all an odd, silvery off-white, and the only window was a two-way mirror. Since the Director was in here with her, she shuddered to think about who might be observing.

Delilah gingerly moved into the awkwardly cold metal chair, immediately knowing that her body would make her pay for the privilege of pretending to be an adult in a piece of uncomfortable furniture. Phil took a seat across from her, his expression resolved, apologetic, and otherwise inscrutable. The medic stood behind her and off to the right.

"So apparently your powers don't extend to being able to tell time," Fury grumbled as he looked at his watch. Regardless of how it looked, she refused to bow to the feeling like she was facing off against her high school principal.

She hooked her purse strap around her knee as she set her bag on the floor, then folded her hands on the table in front of her, the picture of relaxation. "Tony's fault." It wasn't a lie, and she got the feeling that was an excuse he heard a lot, just knowing the engineer in the short time she had. The way he blinked when she said that all but confirmed it.

"So let's get started, shall we?" Phil prompted.

The Director harrumphed and opened up the file which had pictures paperclipped to the inside cover and a paper full of densely packed paragraphs. "You are an unregistered mutant." It wasn't a question.

"I'm a citizen, and that's a civil infraction."

"You killed seven people." He delivered the accusation with a stony expression, but she was unmoved.

"They came to arrest me unlawfully for a civil infraction, abducted me, and then they assaulted me." She tapped the spot on her cheekbone that was still swollen and discolored, even under the makeup. "I have the right to protect myself."

"You don't have the right to scorch a city block," Fury snapped back.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I the one standing there with automatic weapons? In fact I was not. I was the one standing there in a mermaid dress having just come off a double set on stage. So please, tell me again about how the unarmed, fat, crippled chick posed an imminent threat to federal agents. I'm waiting." Phil didn't smile but she could tell from the way he blinked and the slight twitch of his lips that he was working really hard at it.

He was unmoved. "Be that as it may, the seven bodies to your name were federal agents with the Mutant Registration Agency."

And two could play that game. "Not my problem. Am I under arrest? Am I entitled to counsel?"

"You are in custody while charges are brought under the heading of mass murder as a result of terrorism. Technically, I don't have to provide you with counsel." He seemed proud of that fact.

Delilah snorted, the irony startling a chuckle out of her. "Wow. So snatching people off the street for warrantless detention is cool, but refusing to go is a problem."

Director Fury shrugged, very carefree. "It is when several people die."

She felt the annoyance at the base of her skull and schooled her features to make sure it didn't show in any way. "Not my problem," she repeated with a boredom in her voice she didn't feel. "I gave them numerous opportunities to let me go and they chose the hard way. I can't help they made stupid decisions." A couple minutes passed then with silence falling between them as they stared at each other across the expanse of the table. The solution, at least the one it appeared he was angling for, came to her all at once. "Let's have it, then."

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

She got the feeling that not many people at all caught Nick Fury flat-footed, but she'd done so twice in as many days. She was kinda proud of herself. On the offensive now, she congenially demanded, "What is it you want? You want me to cop to killing them? Sure, they were standing too close to me when one decided he liked hitting women. I didn't appreciate it, and wasn't wrong for it. Let's get to the real point."

He had caught himself and was back to looking bored and unimpressed. "Which is?"

"Isn't this the part where you offer me a deal?"

"A deal?" Normally he was a man who brokered in artfully applied leverage, favors, and arm-twisting. Being confronted like this hadn't really factored into his plan at all, and that showed all over his face.

Delilah rolled her eyes. "Yeah, a deal. Like whatever it is you want in exchange for the inconvenience of making murder charges go away or whatever? Isn't that how this is supposed to work?" The Director of SHIELD opened his mouth a couple times, then pursed his lips as he stared at her, and poor Phil looked like he was slowly strangling to death. "So let's just jump to the part where you tell me what it is you want and we go from there."

"Okay." He flipped to about halfway through the file and paused again to read and regroup. "You did _not_ kill the HYDRA agents who approached you." His tone indicated he was getting back on track with whatever his original plan was, but was still shaking off her attack.

"If by 'approached' you mean 'also attempted to kidnap me', then yes. That is correct."

"Is there a reason you didn't kill them?" The accusation in his tone was more than clear, and it seemed to make him happy to convey it.

"As cute as you alluding to me colluding with a state enemy is, I was interrupted by Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor while working on doing just that." She paused and thought about it with a finger on her lips. "Oh, and my mama was there."

A razor-sharp smile slid across his lips as he flipped a couple more pages. "Let's talk about your mother."

* * *

"I'm just sayin', Cap," Clint mused around a bite of blueberry muffin that left crumbs and chunks of struesel all over his lips, face, and chest, "we could take more runs to Amish country and I would be totally okay with that." He had a hand possessively over a bag of more muffins in the seat next to him, as well as a bag of rolls underneath, both purchased from an Amish market when they found that their callout to the HYDRA base had been unfounded. Never let it be said he didn't make the best of a bad situation. Thor sat next to him on the other side of the bench, jars of jam samples in a bag by his feet as he delicately cracked one open and dipped in a recently purchased shortbread cookie.

Steve normally would have been a least a little amused at the archer's running commentary, a common occurrence when he wasn't piloting the quinjet, but the tension that vibrated through him wouldn't let him settle down enough to appreciate it. There was something fundamentally _wrong_ and he could feel it, but damn if he knew what it could be. "How long 'til we're back at the tower?" he asked Natasha from the copilot's seat.

"Little under two hours," she replied as she checked her instruments and made adjustments.

He didn't like it, but then, wasn't much he could do about it, either.

* * *

"I'm amused that you think threatening my mother is the way to go here. Especially when you haven't even told me what it is you want from all this." The man had a lot of damn gall. She didn't add the last person who did that damn near got his car blown to hell, she wanted to leave that as a surprise.

He chuckled at her, clearly reveling in her irritation. "What makes you think I want something?"

"Because this is fairly theatrical if you're just here to arrest me for for capital offenses. You could have handed me off to the FBI by now, but instead, here I sit, in SHIELD-like the CIA but less pleasant or so I'm to understand-being forced to entertain your foolishness. Let's just get to it. What is it you want? Damn." The lack of comfort in the chair was becoming more evident, the longer he hemmed and hawed around the topic and with that pain, her patience began to stretch thin in places.

"The government would like your services."

"Services?" Delilah scoffed, choking on a cough as she openly cackled in his face. "Is that what we're calling this now? There are far simpler ways to ask." They wanted to weaponize her, because of course they did. Exactly 100% what she didn't want to have happen. "And uh, also no."

He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, looking very certain he held all the cards. "Your opinion in this matter is noted and disregarded. You seem to be laboring under the delusion you have a choice."

"Don't I?" she challenged.

As they stared each other down, she could almost see the moment he switched gears. "Do you realize I could have you injected with a sedative?" His eyes flicked to the medic behind her briefly. "One that could induce a coma from which you would never emerge, thus alleviating the public threat you pose?"

Delilah looked back at the medic and slowly gave them her sweetest smile. "You're welcome to try." She kept her voice soft, the tone inviting, but the threat was very, very real. She turned her attention back to Agent Coulson and Director Fury. "That's the interesting thing about these places. Tables, chairs, walls, windows. The choices are actually fairly minimal in terms of construction materials, really. Wood, metal, plastic, or concrete, or some combination thereof. Wood burns, metal conducts, plastic will melt and burn, and concrete will insulate." She, too, could make threats, since it was now that kind of party. "You think you can get to me before I decide to flash broil everyone in this room?" In case anyone was unclear, she was absolutely devoted to being the only motherfucker walking out of the room if it came down to it.

She opened her hands on the table then, running across its smooth and oddly cool, burnished metal surface. Every eye in the room was on her as she stilled her hands, amused to find that the heat in her hands didn't gather in the metal beneath them.

Fury smirked. "That's right, that metal doesn't conduct."

Completely unimpressed, she cocked her head to the side with an innocent expression. "Chitauri or Shi'ar?" This time Phil snorted and Fury was reduced to blinking.

* * *

"You gave her a _flamethrower_? Tony, what the hell, man?" When he was finally able to raise the man on comms, that's what he'd opened with. While Steve was truly touched that he felt so moved as to make her a cane to help her walk, the additions he made were… concerning.

"I did it as a laugh, honestly. She doesn't really need it but I figured she'd get a kick out of it. The grappling hook and EM guns were the more practical additions." He honestly sounded proud of himself. Steve stared at the ceiling of the cockpit and then looked over at Natasha, who was making no secret of her grin at his expense, even if she never looked away from her post. "So when she left with Agent Agent for SHIELD, I figured she might need a little bit of something extra, just in case."

They were going to talk about this when he got home. There were so many things wrong with Tony arming Delilah, just on general principle, but he really didn't want to get into that right now. "Oh, and how'd that go?"

"No idea. They're not back yet. I've been hanging out with her mom and Bruce. She made us chicken pot pie. Like from scratch. I had no idea such things were even possible but it's amaaaaaaaazing."

"No fair!" Clint protested, now with only half a bag of muffins to his name. "You better save me some!"

"You better get home soon then." Tony's voice was light and airy and grinding on Steve's last good nerve.

* * *

"That doesn't matter. The fact of the matter remains that the metal doesn't conduct and you won't be able to do that in here."

"Oh sweetheart," she chuckled as he flinched at the endearment, "let me explain this to you using the tiniest words possible. If it doesn't burn, and it doesn't melt, and it doesn't conduct, it will insulate." She pushed to her feet with her new cane and stood even though it hurt. "Now I ask you, is this really how you want this to go or can we have a civilized conversation?"

The medic decided that she did not wish to spend her afternoon as a charcoal briquette and made for the door as Delilah and the Director faced off. The minutes ticked by with neither one of them backing down or blinking as the temperature in the room gradually rose.

Finally, Phil, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead and around his collar, slammed his pen down on the table, bringing both of their eyes to him. "That's enough! Both of you sit down." Shocked by his sharp tone, both of them did just that. He then looked to the medic who had yet to make it past the locked door. "Thank you, Angela, that will be all." The door clicked and she slipped out as fast as her bootied feet would carry her the moment he dismissed her.

Fury opened his mouth and Coulson held up a finger with a positively lethal expression. "Do not." He took one deep breath, then two, then straightened out his tie and took a seat next to the Director, pulling the file folder over and flipping through it towards the back, grumbling, "You're trying to get us killed. I cannot _believe_ you! It's _Tuesday_!" He looked at him so accusingly, Delilah felt bad. "Taco Tuesday and I haven't had lunch yet. What is wrong with you?"

Delilah opened her mouth to offer suggestions as to the answer when the whole damn building shook. Hard. "The fuck?"


	4. Chapter 4

Klaxons blaring in the quinjet startled everybody, and the comms were filled with Tony swearing. It was a SHIELD alert to assemble the Avengers, but it was short on details.

"The fuck is going on, Stark?" Clint demanded, doing his best to stow his snacks as Natasha sped up the trip.

Tony sounded pressed, like he was running. "No idea. I'm working on a location now but it seems like the message was cut off prematurely."

"Sir," Jarvis interjected, "I'm getting reports of explosions at SHIELD headquarters. Several of them."

Steve's heart seized for a moment before lodging firmly in his throat. Before he could speak, Natasha was banking the plane hard right and heading directly there.

"Banner's with Meredith. I'm on my way now, Cap," Iron Man promised and then went silent.

Thor stood up and took Mjölnir in hand. "Let me out and I shall scout ahead."

Clint stood up, strapped up with his quiver and bow. "I'm with him."

Natasha looked to Cap, the team leader, and he had just a second to consider it. He pulled his cowl back over his head and nodded, and she opened the cargo doors through which Thor, with his arm around Clint's waist, were immediately sucked through.

"She will be fine," Widow murmured.

"She better be," was all he could manage to reply.

* * *

Everything happened really quickly after the first explosion. There were three more in quick succession, followed by ridiculously loud alarms, flashing lights, and evacuation orders shouted over a loudspeaker. And yet, for some damn reason, they were still in fucking interrogation.

"Shouldn't we be going?" Delilah asked after Phil cracked the door to get a look out in the hallway. She could hear people running past but other than that, she didn't know.

"You're still under arrest," Fury informed her primly, like he had her by the book and that was the only thing that mattered instead of the situation in front of them.

"Think very carefully about how much you really want to die on that hill, because at this point, it appears that can be arranged." When his hand went to his sidearm, she waved a dismissive hand at him. "Oh whatever, dude. Only one of us here is more or less immortal."

Phil's eyes widened and then he shut the door quickly, leaning against it and bracing for another explosion that made the lights flicker and dim. "Director, we _have _to evacuate. This room won't hold up forever."

Fury held up a finger as he snarled quietly into his phone, going back and forth with someone before calmly touching the screen and slipping it into his pocket. "It seems that HYDRA would like another shot at you, Miss Ford."

"Another kidnapping? Should I start collecting them like trading cards?" The next explosion was close and knocked her to the ground and sent her humor skidding out the door. Phil helped her to her feet, but she was horrified. "I can't… all these people… " She gripped Coulson's arm tightly, wrinkling the sleeve of his suit jacket. "You gotta get them out of here. Get everyone out of here. If it's me they want, they can have me."

* * *

"Sitrep!" Cap calls through the comms as he and Widow near the landing strip for SHIELD HQ. Smoke is showing in several places at the site from the air and it appeared to be complete pandemonium on the ground.

"Inbound in thirty seconds, welcome to the shitshow. There are civilians everywhere, Cap." Tony's repulsors roar in the background as he begins taking fire from the HYDRA foot soldiers on the ground.

"Thor's trying to organize the civilians and I'm moving in to help Tony," Hawkeye called while running.

Steve ran to the cargo bay doors and nodded to Natasha. "Clint, help Thor get these civilians moved out and Tony, I'm coming to you." Deep breath and he was out the door, dropping down from about two stories overhead as Natasha drew fire from the ground.

* * *

"Comms just died," Phil said ominously and goosebumps broke out all over her skin as a wave of heat rolled through her.

"What's the plan?" Delilah asked, injecting way more calm into her tone than she felt.

Fury settled into his chair and steepled his hands in front of him on the table. "The Avengers are on their way."

Her glare was full of penetrating trauma. "So… post up in here until they get here or what?"

Phil shook his head, not with this plan at all. "There's a lot more of them than there are of us. Our best bet is to evacuate and mix with the civilians."

"I could go out there," she offered blithely. "Give myself up and end this quickly before there are any more casualties."

"No!" Both men shouted at once. Phil went back to watch the door, his gun out and the Director just stared at her.

"You are under arrest," Fury reminded her smugly.

"So you keep telling me." As the commotion grew closer, she felt the control she had on her body's reactions slipping slightly. Every loud noise that made her jump brought her that much closer to the edge. "You know the only reason neither of you is a baked ham is because I'm in a relatively stable mood, right?" Phil slowly turned from the door eyeing her warily. "Let me out of here, before this becomes a problem none of us can control. I don't want to kill anyone who doesn't have it coming. Please."

"I'm not sending you out there," Phil insisted as she got to her feet. "You're in no condition to fight, unless you…" he gestured up and down her person.

"Understood. I'd like not to do that inside if I could help it." Setting the building on fire or worse, causing some sort of detonation would only complicate an already messy situation.

The agent nodded slowly. "You and me both."

Annoyed that neither of them are paying attention to him, Fury stepped up between them. "We have agents coming through here shortly and we'll leave with them."

Delilah shook her head and opened the door. "Nope. HYDRA wants me for the same reason SHIELD does, and I can't wait here and let more people get hurt or killed because you wanna be a territorial dick. I can still be arrested afterwards, provided there's anyone left to do it." She was out and hobbling down the hall before either man knew what happened.

Fury's annoyance was approaching critical mass. "Well?" he demanded of Phil as he shooed him out of the room.

Taking it as permission to accompany Delilah on her suicide mission, Phil grabbed up her purse from the floor and dashed out, headed in the same direction she had. "I'm on it."

* * *

"At this moment, it appears there are fifteen confirmed DOA, approximately another seventy that are critical and more casualties coming in all the time," Jarvis informed Tony who was coordinating the evacuation on the ground. His was the only system still online because of the integral nature of the AI with the suit. The siege was ongoing with more waves coming and it was clear that SHIELD Medical would likely be overwhelmed sooner rather than later.

"Do we have an ETA on the Richards?" The Avengers were holding up but none of them could go forever, except maybe Thor. Even Bruce joined the proceedings having left Meredith under guard at the tower.

"Less than three minutes, however, sir, another signal has just come onto the radar."

"Hostile?"

"The cane, sir. It just appeared in the center the building on the sixth floor and began transmitting a moment ago. She's proceeding slowly to the west stairwell."

Firing his repulsors in a strafing run to take out a couple armored personnel carriers, he thought about it. Tony finally felt like he could exhale. "Excellent, I'll meet her on the ground floor."

* * *

This seemed like a much better plan when she was sitting in interrogation, she fumed as she shuffled down the hallway. The cane was such a help and took so much pressure off her legs and back, but even then, the distance between the interrogation room and the front door was a long damn way, down a few floors and on the opposite side of the building. Not including a couple wrong turns thrown in for color.

She had just made it into a bullpen of sorts, an open floor cube farm that was all but abandoned. A noise behind her had her ducking into a cube and checking the direction it came from.

Delilah had no idea what to do with the image of Agent Phil Coulson pushing a rolling office chair with one hand and his sidearm in the other. Her grey purse strap was visible hanging from his shoulder.

"You call for an Uber?" He was actually smiling when he asked.

She slowly pushed herself to her feet with her head cocked so far to the side it could have been mistaken for a broken neck. "Dude. The fuck is this?"

"Technically, you're still in my custody," he replied cheerfully as he herded her into the chair and began to push her toward the opposite elevators and emergency stairs at the far end of the building.

"Uh huh." He chuckled at her non-response and continued their journey. The respite was doing great things for her pain, but as they neared the stairwell, her anxiety began to take up the slack. "I will do everything I can to warn you before I go supernova, okay?"

"I know." He sounded so disinterested, they could have been discussing curling scores from the seventies. Her purse dropped into her lap as he walked.

"Promise me you'll get clear." She wiggled around in the chair to stare at him over her shoulder. "I mean it. I don't want to kill anyone I don't absolutely have to."

He reached down and squeezed her shoulder. "I promise." He didn't even stop walking.

* * *

"Jarvis, I need an update, dammit! That damn tracker is going down more often than a cheerleader on prom night."

"Colorful aphorism aside," the AI noted acerbically, "I can only tell you what I have. Her last known location was the fourth floor heading toward the elevator. I have no further beyond that."

In addition to taking a fair amount of fire from the seemingly endless horde of minions, good god so many goddamn minions, the chip's transmission wasn't consistent. Tony didn't know if it was a side effect of the downed communications or if something bad had happened to Delilah, but either way, if he didn't find her soon, Cap was just going to level the building a brick at a time if that's what it took. That was absolutely the last resort.

* * *

The Great Escape had been going well for the most part, down a floor on the stairs and then had to bolt when they heard people coming up from the floors below, grabbed a new abandoned office chair in the bullpen from this floor, when they ran into a snag somewhere near the supervisors' offices.

"Third floor, east wing! Stop!" Then there was more yelling as several more storm troopers came tromping in behind the first one, from both sides of the hallway.

Delilah could feel the breeze against her face as Phil broke into a run, shoving her in the chair and shooting behind him. They rounded a corner and found an open office with a blown out window, which he quickly thrust them into and overturned the desk in front of the door.

"That-" she paused to take a deep breath and flex the fingers that practically squeezed dents into her cane. "That was close." She'd rolled into a corner in the chair and got to her feet unsteadily as she took in the room. It was relatively generic, with the light brown carpeting and moderately blue-grey walls. It would have been fairly tidy if not for papers strewn everywhere by the open window and the overturned desk that even now was keeping out the ravaging hordes. Fortunately there were no windows out to the hallway to worry about, at least until they started shooting through the wall.

The agent blinked at her then stalked over to the door before moving to the jaggedly open window, not even really paying attention as he checked the magazine in his pistol and slapped it back into place. They were up on the third floor, and the window looked down upon a hangar with doors open. In the middle distance between them and the freedom were so many people in black uniforms the concrete tarmac wasn't even visible. He blew out a breath that started so deeply within him, the exhalation made him drop his head. A moment later, he looked to her with a new resolve in his eyes. "Okay."

"There's an alarming note of finality in that one word. Alamo?" Delilah wasn't opposed to making her last stand here, but he had to be out of the room. She would not willingly kill someone who'd gone out of their way to look after her when she needed it.

"Oh no. We're far from making our last stand here." His lips twitched, curling into a faint semblance of a smile, or a grimace, she couldn't tell. "You think Tony was serious about your cane?"

"Tentatively? Yes." Yeah, she was certain Tony had been serious, he'd been way too exuberant when he'd presented her with it for him not to have been, but that wasn't something she wanted to cop to readily. "I'd say highly likely."

He nodded. "Excellent, then we're gonna need the grappling hook."

"I'm sorry, what now?"

* * *

"Still no word, sir."

"Fuck." Tony was running out of options as he flew around the building scanning for her presence or a radar ping from the tracking chip in the cane. More and more HYDRA troops were filing inside and it was going to be a bloodbath if he went in there to search floor to floor. The heat signatures in the building all but obscured individual hits and there was no way to separate her unless hers became the only, likely lethal, heat signature. He really hoped it didn't come to that.

* * *

"... there's no exit on this side of the building, so they're not expecting anyone to make a break for it. Especially from up here." The alarming part about the plan, and the plan itself scared the bejesus out of her, was how rational Phil sounded explaining it.

"Grappling hook, zipline down, commandeer a vehicle and bolt. That's the plan."

He nodded grimly, watching the few people wandering between the hangar and the building. Delilah moved over to look at the scene herself. No one was looking up, paying any attention to them, and there weren't that many people there.

"This could actually work," she marveled.

Agent Coulson smirked. "Don't look so shocked. I've done more with less. It's kind of the informal SHIELD motto." He held out a hand and she gave him her cane. "So, let's see how this works, shall we?"

The next couple minutes were spent shooting the hook from her cane across the way, using some kind of super-strong, stretchy cable that Phil secured to the desk, and waiting to see if it was noticed. It appeared they were in the clear, so Phil casually holstered his pistol and took off his belt.

"You're really going to do this. You could just as easily fall and break your neck. You don't have to do this." Delilah was babbling, she knew, but the longer she stared at the line between them and the hangar, the more visceral her terror became, and words were a pressure relief valve.

"I have a duty to escape," he explained as he wrapped one end of his belt around his hand and tested the strength of it. "I'm also not leaving you behind. So get your ass up, because you're coming with me."

"With what? My good looks and charm?" His eyes flit to her purse and back to her face with a raised brow.

"You know I have a bad leg, right? How do you expect me to land this?"

He dismissed her concern with a flick of the wrist. "You've got one semi-decent leg, right?" She nodded. "Then you'll land it. I have faith."

"Infinitely more faith in my joints than I do, that's for damn sure."

* * *

With the arrival of the Fantastic Four, as well as some members of Xavier's school, the tide began to turn. Good thing, too, since the suit was running low on power, Cap was busy commanding the ground assault, and Tony still couldn't find Delilah. Coming back from the main gate which was now firmly back in SHIELD control, a movement from one of the upper floors of the headquarters building caught his eye. "What the-oh fuck!"

* * *

When Agent Coulson made it down to the ground like an extra from Mission Impossible, and with no one any the wiser, Delilah felt at least a little bit better about his plan, at least his part of it. Still, she knew they had a finite window of escape that was shrinking with every second that passed.

"This is going to go so, so badly," she muttered to herself as she came up to the window and perched on the ledge, purse strap around her hands and the zipline. Under other circumstances, she'd have erred on the side of her fears and physical frailties, but the moment she heard an attempt to breach the door to the office, she knew her time was up. "Fucking awful plan," she breathed as she pushed away from the building and began her long slide to freedom.

She couldn't even look behind her when she heard a shout coming from above her, she was halfway there and focused on landing and not blowing out her knee. Or hip. Or back. At least she was until the searing pain ripped through her thigh and the world blasted white.

* * *

The blinding flash between the building and the hangar rivaled the sun, and the heat damn near knocked Iron Man from the air. Somewhere nearby, the Hulk roared in displeasure. It was like a bomb exploding and sent everyone, both HYDRA and friendlies scurrying for cover. Tony recovered enough to approach the scene again, a streak of blue on the ground told him that Cap was almost there as well.

Bedlam, that was the only word for it. It was a dystopian wasteland of scorched concrete, broken and melted glass, warped metal, and charred human remains, and floating in the center, the woman with the golden glow.

It was a scene out of a Kubrick movie.

Her aura receded and delicately deposited a very pissed off Delilah in the epicenter of the blast radius swearing virulently the moment she touched down. Her legs wouldn't hold her and she immediately collapsed to the ground in a heap. "Mo-ther-_fuck_-er! God _dammit_ that hurt!" The way she pronounced each syllable underscored the amount of pain she was in, but it wasn't enough to push back some of the more motivated HYDRA troops. "Come any closer and I'll cook your fucking face off," she snarled as she pulled herself toward the hangar with only her arms.

"I wouldn't test her. She means that," Tony remarked as he came in for a landing not far from her. The leftover goons halted their advance and were quickly overwhelmed by SHIELD forces. He waited until they were clear to crouch down beside her. "Hey there, Delilah." He giggled as he opened the faceplate on the helmet.

She snorted and dropped her head, the humor taking all the starch out of her. "Couldn't resist, could you, Hot Pocket?"

He shook his head at the nickname, an affectionate grin curling his lips. "Clearly not. Hey," he turned his attention to the people creeping out of the wrecked hangar. "Be a mensch and grab a flight suit, wouldja?"

It was in that moment Delilah realized she'd forgotten a fundamental issue with her flare-ups: the post flaming nudity. She was too pissed off to be embarrassed exactly, but man, was it a near thing. "Naked Tuesday, huh?"

The servos of the suit whined a little as he lifted a shoulder in a dismissive, but understanding, shrug. "Happens to the best of us." A SHIELD member in a uniform that looked like it'd been cut away with a blowtorch in places ran out and handed the suit to him, and he pressed it into her hands before standing. "A little privacy for the lady?" he asked of the group, and fired up the repulsors when they didn't move fast enough.

Delilah did her best to dress and not move around too much. She'd been shot while she was still human, which meant that while she wouldn't die from it, and it would hurt like a son of a bitch, but it would leave a mark. An ugly, likely to scar, currently cauterized mark.

"Need a hand?" The deep voice didn't belong to Tony, he was still over doing crowd control. Looking up, she saw the most brilliant blue eyes she'd ever seen, and while a part of her was beyond mortified, it was hard not to be a little captivated by the man offering her a hand up. Her smile was met with an affectionate, answering one, even if he was blushing. "Hi."

She let him haul her to her feet, and she took a second to finish dressing before throwing her arms around him in a hug and burying her face in his neck. "Hi back." Though the cowl somewhat obscured his face, that smile, she'd know anywhere. "You have no idea how good it is to see you."

"It has been a day," he agreed as he squeezed her closer. He was huge and solid and so comforting, a sob she'd been holding back welled up in her throat. The words he spoke were barely audible above the din of the scene, but the rumbling in his chest as he spoke helped calm her as she finally took a moment to offload a bit of her anxiety. She hated the hot tears soaking his stealth suit but having just that small moment let her quiet the noise in her head gave her a deep level of solace.

"And it's not over yet." Fury emerged from the hangar wreckage then, looking surprisingly unblemished. Phil, however, wasn't quite as lucky. Sunburnt, suit charred in a couple places and shirt looking like it lost a prize fight with an iron, he was behind the Director looking like he was in the mood to shoot the next person who looked at him. "Delilah Ford, you're still under arrest."

Steve pulled her close and physically picked her up to move her away from his approach as Tony inserted himself in between them. "You want to arrest her, on what charges?"

Nick Fury was practically beaming as he stepped around Iron Man. "In addition to the deaths of numerous federal agents, we can now add extensive destruction of government property, too."

Cap set her down on the ground next to the wreckage of the building before turning to face his boss. "What-?!"

"You're blaming her for this?!" Tony was practically foaming at the mouth with rage.

There was a lot of yelling as they attempted to argue the Director down from his lofty perch, and while they did, the transport from SHIELD medical arrived.

"Guys?" All eyes turned to her as she was loaded onto the stretcher and the medic ran an IV. "I kinda gotta go."

Looking absolutely gutted, Steve took her hand and skimmed a kiss over her knuckles. "I'll be down to see you shortly," he promised.

In the same moment, Tony informed her, "My legal team will be here within the hour to bury him. Don't start talking without them." The look on his face was positively murderous.

Satisfied he was getting his way, the Director turned to Phil who still looked like he'd be inclined kick a child if he had to stand there much longer. "You heard the man. She's under arrest, cuff her," he commanded triumphantly.

Agent Coulson was spent. Just… over it. He was not here to be a pawn in Fury's little game, nor was he going to arrest a woman who had tried valiantly to end this situation before it had gotten this far. There were so many unnecessary things that happened, he couldn't even count that high, and he was numb to the bullshit machinations of his boss. He needed a bourbon, a bath, and his boyfriend, and not even in that order. Taking the cuffs from his pocket, he walked up on Fury and slapped them into his palm. "You know what? Do it yourself."


	5. Chapter 5

What happened next only came in patches of memory for Delilah, due to a liberal and thankfully heavy application of pain meds. There had been lawyers with her at some point, she didn't really know, but she remembered the arguing and Fury attempting to question her. She assumed that did not go well since she was still here and he was not. Too many names and faces in her mind to piece together any kind of narrative, so she decided that sleep was an infinitely better task than trying to think right then.

When she woke up again and felt a little more herself, at least a little more cogent and together, the room was dimly lit and very quiet. A sound caught her ear, a faint snore, a mouse farting, something. Opening her eyes was too much work, so she called out, "Mama?" Her speech was slurred, but she figured that would wear off as she woke up.

A giant hand engulfed hers, imparting a warmth and comfort she'd come to associate with one person. She cracked an eye open and was greeted with the most amazing smile she would never feel worthy of. "Hi there, Sleeping Beauty."

Her smile was slow and her laugh was little more than a huff, but after the day she'd had, it was impressive she could manage humor at all. "I think you're in the wrong room, Cap."

His response was to perch on the side of the bed. "Hush," he murmured against the skin of her forehead as he kissed her. When he pulled back, he looked her directly in the eye. "Hiya dollface."

Delilah licked her lips, drawing his attention for a moment before they returned to pin her in place. "Hi back."

Steve stole a quick kiss before moving back to the chair at her bedside. "Good to have you back among the land of the living."

"Was there a question?" She'd been wounded, but certainly not enough to accomplish what cancer and her own body had failed to do on several occasions.

He held his fingers a scant inch apart. "Little bit."

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head as she grinned at him. "Trust me, I'm sustained by caffeine and pure spite. There was no question."

With a wry grin dancing across his lips, he pressed a kiss her knuckles. "You and Tony have that in common, I think. Probably for the same reasons, if I had to guess."

"Likely." Delilah nodded slowly, feeling every motion like her brain was in a jar of water and sloshing about still. "How bad was it?"

He hung his head and stared at their joined hands as he heaved a sigh. "They said the bullet missed the femoral artery which is good. Your wound was, uh," he breathed in through his nose like he was working up to something unpleasant. "It was, um… they said it was cauterized from when you flared. They had to cut you open to get the bullet out and take care of the wound, then sew you back up."

"Not unexpected." The tiredness that hovered at the edge of her consciousness advanced, giving her voice a dreamy quality. "At least I have good pain medicine and antibiotics." She burrowed a little deeper into the bed and he pulled the blankets up a bit higher on her. "How's my mama? Can I see her?"

Cap winced at the mention of her mom, but Delilah was too far gone to decipher the meaning of his face. "Unfortunately, this is the prison wing of SHIELD medical, so visitors are generally prohibited." When her face fell, he followed up with, "Hey, she's okay, she's at the tower. When I left, Tony was, well…"

"Please don't let Tony corrupt my mother."

"Oh no, if anything, she's spoiling us in baked goods. I'm not sure she understands how unforgiving spandex can be." His lips twitched at her snorted giggle. "Anyway, she says it helps her keep her mind off of the situation." He took her shrug and rueful grin as confirmation. "She knows you're okay and you'll see her as soon as you can."

Delilah nodded, her mind slowly drifting away from her on the fog of pain medicine. A moment later, she sat up and looked at him, clinging to lucidity like a life raft. "If I'm in the prison wing and not supposed to have visitors, how are you here?"

Steve shrugged and gave her a wry grin. "What're they gonna say? I'm Captain America." He then kissed her palm and slipped her hand under the blankets before tucking her in.

She purred and nodded in agreement, feeling her mind drift away again. "Fair enough."

* * *

To call the debrief 'contentious' would have been charitable, but by the time Steve and the rest of the Avengers adjourned to the tower, he was fuming. Fury was content to hang the entire day's proceedings around Delilah's neck and drown her with it.

After Nat helped Bruce up to his room and Thor retired to his suite, the three remaining members converged on the kitchen while Steve continued his rant.

"It's not right, Tony," he growled as he marched over to the fridge and yanked out a bottle of water. "She doesn't deserve this and you know it."

"I know, and we're going to let the bastard have his day today. Tomorrow my lawyers will be filing so many injunctions he won't be able to get into his office for the paperwork. We will make him bleed ink." He grabbed an orange out of the bowl of fresh fruit and used his thumbnail to slit the skin to yank off the peel in chunks. "This is what I pay them for, Cap. They're good at it."

"They better be," Steve warned ominously. He was so riled up, the moment he twisted off the cap, the bottle collapsed in his fist. "Shit!"

"Language, Cap," Clint scolded as he grabbed a dishrag from the sink and began to clean up the mess. "Might wanna keep it down. Meredith's asleep." He nodded toward the hall that led to the guest rooms where Delilah had stayed with her mother.

"Sorry," he grumbled, feeling like swearing even more after that, along with a solid desire to break things. He stalked into the guest area, and found Meredith curled up on the couch with a blanket, and his heart just broke for her.

Steve checked her pillow and grabbed another blanket from the room and draped it across her before heading back out to the kitchen. When he got back, he found Clint reclining on the couch scrolling through his phone and Tony sitting in one of the side chairs, reading a tablet and eating his orange slices.

He looked up as Steve stomped over to the fridge to grab another bottle of water. "We're doing everything we can, Cap. You know that, right?"

"And yet it's not enough," Steve snapped. He felt helpless, and there was nothing that pissed him off more than the idea that he couldn't change a situation or nothing he could to do combat an injustice. The boiling rage he felt wasn't subsiding, so he knew what he needed to do. "I… I gotta go. I'll be in the gym."

"Sirs," Jarvis interjected just as Steve made it to the elevator to head up to his room. "It would appear we have a situation." All three men snapped to in unison. After the day they'd had, 'situation' was the very last word any of them want to hear.

"Jay, be a dear and clarify that, would you?" Tony's upbeat tone belied his barely restrained scowl. Steve was by his side in an instant looking just this side of feral with wide eyes and hands fisted at his sides.

Instead of answering verbally, a holographic television screen appeared in front of them playing the late night news. "... in the anonymous video just released, it shows Miss Ford being forcibly dragged away and being assaulted immediately prior to the incident. This security footage directly refutes the agency's claims-"

"Jarvis, please mute it," Steve commanded and looked from Tony to Clint and back. "What did you do?"

Clint's hands were up immediately. "Not me, Cap." He turned on his heel and headed over to the elevator without a backwards glance. "My name's Paul and that shit's 'tween y'all." The elevator stopped long enough for Clint to join Phil, who looked like he'd spent the better part of the day on a rotisserie, and head up to their apartment.

"And then there was one," Steve murmured darkly, his attention now firmly on the man headed over to the bar. "What did you do, Stark?"

"Bold of you to assume I'd do something like that." Tony waved a hand dismissively as he grabbed a crystal tumbler and his go-to scotch.

"'Something like that'," he repeated, watching his friend carefully dole out out ice cubes before pouring out two fingers of amber peace and quiet.

He stared down into the eddy in his glass as he swirled it idly. "Oh, you know, searched all the security footage of the day you met Delilah at the bar, both the interior and the exterior, along with some obscure posted cell phone footage and made sure it ended up in the hands of some people in desperate need of an Emmy. That kind of thing."

"Right." Steve smiled tightly. "Because all of that is well beyond your skill set." He put his hand over the mouth of the glass and held it to the bar, bringing Tony's dark eyes to his. There were so many things he wanted to know, but the most pressing of which jumped to his lips first. "Why?"

Eyes narrowed, yanked his glass back from Cap and defiantly took a sip. "Always disparaging. I swear to God. A lesser man would take it personally." He came around the bar and faced the room as he drank, taking in any view that didn't include a glowering Captain America. "Fury isn't going to stop. The lawyers, the Constitution, he's just going to do what he feels like, manipulate whoever he needs to, just to have his way. But there's one thing he can't control."

They both watched the footage play on repeat as Jarvis cycled through news channels, both local and national. And then there was Twitter.

"The public will run him over before he has a chance to know he should cross the street." He waved a hand to dismiss the screen before turning to face Steve. "He takes ownership of this whole debacle by keeping her in custody. This paints MRA and SHIELD in a bad light, and only one of them can back away gracefully. Think of it as a second front, Cap."

A wry smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I seem to recall that working well last time."

* * *

Delilah woke to the smell of leather and bay rum and the light scratch of a pen on a piece of newsprint. One eye opened just a slit and revealed Nick Fury in the chair by her bedside looking expertly put together in a black leather coat, grey silk button down shirt, and dark jeans. He was chewing on a pen cap and working on a newspaper crossword puzzle, paying her no attention at all. She shut her eye again, determined to wait him out.

"What's a seven letter word for 'vigilante'?" He didn't look up at her and continued filling in letters in pen.

A part of her wanted to continue to pretend to be asleep, but she knew he wouldn't be fooled by that. "You know I'm on heavy-duty narcotics, right?" She made a point of sounding bored, the slurred quality of her words helping set the tone.

"Doesn't mean you can't help me." She could hear the smile in his voice and his friendly tone just pissed her all the way off.

"Why on earth would I want to? I'm too high for crossword puzzles and if you're out of minions, that ain't my problem. I let my lackey license expire last year," she snapped, finally turning her head in his direction.

"Because you are a good person." The look in his eye was almost sincere and if she'd had more energy, she'd have punched him in the mouth. With her cane.

"One that you're planning to put in jail for being a murderer in the event I don't along with your harebrained scheme. Right," she bit out before closing her eyes and adjusting her blankets. "Go away. I'm not supposed to talk to you without counsel present."

"Fine then, just listen. I want you to join the Avengers."

Her dark eyes snapped open as she goggled at the unhinged man sitting at her bedside. "I'm sorry, you want _what _now?"

Fury looked at her like she might have a bit of head trauma. "I want you to join the…" he trailed off. "Son of a bitch," there was the sound of scribbling again and then he slapped the pen down on the paper triumphantly. "I want you to join the Avengers."

Unsure as to what his game was, she eyed him suspiciously. "The fuck would you want that for? I'm a cripple." She gestured down at her bandaged leg for emphasis.

A shadow of a smile passed over his lips. "Only part time."

His swift dismissal of her current physical state gave her pause. He truly appeared to be serious and that was both frightening and incredibly galling. "You know, you have an impressive depth of cruelty to you."

"Cruelty?" He cocked his head as he looked at her curiously. "I just offered you the deal of a lifetime."

"At the point of a sword," she reminded him. Good Cop routine aside, she knew the stakes and wouldn't be dissuaded by feigned niceties this late in the game.

His indifference to her concerns was telegraphed through a quick flip of his wrist. "Doesn't make the offer any less legitimate. A lot of people would kill for this chance."

The scent of blood filled her nose as her blood pressure spiked. After closing her eyes she focused on her breathing, then the blemishless expanse of white that was the ceiling, slowly feeling the pounding in her eyes and ears subside. "You don't think," she began softly, trying to convey all her thoughts as carefully and diligently as possible, so as to prevent him from having an opening. "You think I wouldn't love that? Love being an Avenger?" Another deep breath, this time exhaled slowly through her teeth. "Here's the problem, though. Aside from being a cripple, which is a rather large problem all on its own.

She shifted in the bed to face him more fully. "I got shot today. I'm in this hospital bed because I got shot today. There are also several people in beds here because me getting shot today almost resulted in me _nuking an entire military installation_. And those are the ones that lived. You already have one member of your team whose power is only barely controlled. Why in the hell would you possibly want two?" He blinked at her instead of answering, so she continued. "I am too dangerous to put with other people, and the fact you can't-or won't-see that scares the hell out of me and only reaffirms why I don't want to work for you."

The way the Director looked at her was clinical, like she was an ongoing science experiment and he should have been taking notes. "Your restraint is impressive." He cleared his throat and started again leaning toward her with his elbows braced on his knees. "Beyond impressive, it's superhuman. In the last few days, you've gone out of your way _not _to engage a power that would have quickly ended situations in your favor. You chose the hard path because it was the right thing to do, and that's what I want."

His doggedness was more than a little unsettling. She licked her lips and repeated her mantra. "I'm not a weapon and I'm not for sale. I don't know how much clearer I can be."

"Your country needs you."

The very sentence made her recoil in scorn. "My country needs a fuck lot more than a monster for hire."

His eyebrow rose as his lips twitched. "Is that how you see the Avengers or yourself?"

"Watch your fucking tone," she growled, a low warning that befit the fact that it was miracle the bedsheets weren't smoking. It was hard not to look at him like he was both incredibly dumb and the Devil himself. "Not all of them are like me, so to answer your question, no. To both." She closed her eyes and focused on calling back her annoyance before she let her irritation start making decisions for her. "I'm aware of what I am and the damage I can do, and I am not putting that in the hands of anyone else. Just not going to happen. Be peaceful with it, come to terms, because I'm done with this conversation."

The Director slapped his knees and pushed to his feet. "Miss Ford, _Delilah_, you've got this all wrong, I-"

Fury's rejoinder was cut off by the door bursting open and a quite sunny looking Tony Stark waltzing through like he owned the very air they were breathing. He was schlubby casual in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans that would likely pay two months of rent at her apartment, and in his hands was a long, thin light blue floral box. "Well, isn't this cozy."

"We're having a conversation, Stark. Wait outside." Fury shifted from 'Good Cop' to 'Potentially Dangerous Asshole' with alarming ease.

"And without counsel present, shame on you, Cyclops." His eyes danced with merriment as he looked between the two of them. He came over and kissed her cheek. "Good to see you, sweetheart." His normally frenetic demeanor seemed positively electric today and he looked like he was keeping back a surprise that was eating its way through him. "So you told her, right?"

Delilah was instantly on her guard. "Told me what?"

At the Director's sullen silence, his big eyes widened further and he looked like the most diabolical sprite she'd ever seen. He gasped theatrically as he slid the long box across the foot of her hospital bed by her feet. It seemed unusually heavy for the size. "You didn't tell her!"

"Tell me what?" she asked again, even more agitated than when she was fighting with Fury.

"We were just having a conversation," Fury repeated, sounding very put upon.

"Tony, for fuck's sake!" She grabbed his arm as he stalked past her, giving him no option but to slow down and explain or drag her from the bed.

Eyes never leaving the Director's, he pulled out his phone and slipped it into her hands. "Just press play. It's worth it." Delilah wasn't quite sure she could trust Tony, but the way he looked in that moment, like he was here to defend her to the death if necessary, had her pressing play and hoping for the best.

Her voice filled the room as a video played of her singing 'Your Heart Is As Black As Night' from the piano bench began to play, shot from the front row. It was from the night she met Steve, and the memory coaxed an involuntary smile from her. Then the talking head from the news came on over the footage of her in the alley the moment the goon hit her in the face and she flared, and after that protests outside of MRA headquarters and SHIELD.

"What… what am I looking at, exactly?"

He watched over her shoulder for a moment before grinning at the Director. "Plays beautifully, doesn't it? Sexy working woman, woman of color even, _a citizen_, beautiful voice, chasing her dreams, harassed for no reason, no warrant, physically disabled and assaulted by the very institutions designed to protect the public. Punished and vilified for protecting herself. Movie of the week stuff right there. Compelling narrative. Writes itself, really." Tony took his phone back and stuffed it into his pants pocket with a smug grin. "To answer your question, that, my dear, is Nick Fury's phone blowing up with calls for additional congressional oversight in 3… 2… 1…" On cue Fury's phone chirped in his pocket. Tony flashed her a wink. "I really am just that good."

The Director pulled out his phone to silence it and put it away again. "So what is it you expect to happen now?" The phone chirped again from inside his coat at least twice more before he withdrew it and silenced it, though he didn't hang up on whomever was calling.

"You're gonna want to answer that." Tony perched on the side of her bed between her and Fury and laced his hands in his lap. "We'll talk about what I want when you get back." He shooed him into the hallway before turning to her. "Hey there, Delilah."

"Hot Pocket, that joke's more tired than I am, and I'm on narcotics." She snickered, then sighed, feeling like she could finally breathe for the first time in a while. "So what brings you by?"

His grin was infectious. "I made you something." He reached behind him and grabbed the long box and pressed it into her hands.

In the light blue box, wrapped in green paper was a new cane to replace the one that had been damaged by her last flashover. "HP MK-II, huh?" Right there, stenciled in red and gold glitter on the black powder-coated shaft, it was gloriously gaudy and perfect. She quickly got it out and set it up so that she could use it the next time she got out of bed. "Thank you." Fanciful and ridiculous as he was, Tony Stark's cane was a lot of the reason she wasn't in the custody of HYDRA.

"Now, I know it seemed excessive at the time, but you have to agree, the grappling hook was a surprisingly big success." His devilish grin made her nervous as he picked her cane up and showed her the hidden buttons so much like the ones before. "Let's talk about options."

* * *

Steve had never been so happy to see anyone in his whole life. While Tony and his lawyers distracted Fury, he spirited Delilah back to the safety of the tower. He'd left her mother and Bruce in a bruising game of backgammon that was just this side of full-contact with Clint and Nat refereeing. It was strange to him how normal this all seemed now.

He was sitting on the floor of the spare room, back against the wall outside of the bathroom with his arms around his knees, listening to her belt out jazz and blues standards while she took a shower. He'd introduced her to Jarvis and the AI's infinite music collection and it was a match made in heaven. Now he rested his head against the wall, eyes closed, listening to her 'air out her pipes' as she'd called it. It was the most peaceful he'd felt in days.

"You know they make these things called chairs. Marvelous inventions, or so I'm led to understand."

Tony's comment from above him brought a smile to his lips as much as the sound did to his soul. He'd heard his friend come in, but was content to bask in the peacefulness a bit longer. "I'm aware."

"All right then." He felt the air change as Tony slid his back down the wall to take a seat next to him, amused at the idea of them just hanging out on the floor. They sat silently together as she shifted from 'Blues in the Night' to 'Summertime'. "God, I could listen to that all day."

"Right?" Steve agreed. "First time I heard it I felt like the ground shifted beneath me." He sighed. "It's like an echo of my life before, but warmer, closer…" He sighed, bouncing his head gently off the wall in a half-assed rhythm. "She feels like... "

"Home," Tony supplied softly. "Reminds me of music my mother would listen to late at night when Howard was… off being Howard." His voice died and Steve opened his eyes and took in his friend's closed eyes and melancholy expression. "I loved to hear her sing."

Tony Stark didn't talk about his family much, so Steve felt privileged he'd even brought it up. "I'm sorry I never got to meet her."

His smile was soft, matching his distant gaze as his mind gave itself over to memory. "Me too."

The men were startled by the bathroom door popping open next to them. Apparently they missed her turning off the water and killing the music. A wet, wide-eyed Delilah emerged into the room wrapped from chest to below her shins in a fuzzy navy blue towel, looking at them askance. "Something I can do for you, boys?"

Stark gave her his most winning smile as he shyly waved. "Hey there, Hot Stuff."

She rolled her eyes as she clicked her tongue at him and clutched her towel tighter to her chest. "Hi, Tony." Turning her attention to Steve, she took in his dancing blue eyes and accompanying smirk. "Was there a floor show I missed or something?"

He held up a hand, his face a mask of innocence personified, all big eyes and slightly flushed cheeks. "Hey, I'm just here in case you needed help because of your gunshot wound."

Tony's eyes narrowed as he side-eyed his friend with pursed lips. "Oh, we're doing that?" He turned his attention to Delilah who was kinda sorta inching toward the bedroom to grab her clothes. "He was out here enjoying the free show listening to you sing."

Steve pointed to his buddy immediately, clearly not content to hang alone. "He was too. Whole reason he sat down."

Before they had a chance to really get to arguing, she held up her own free hand and hitched up the knot in her towel sarong again. "I'm too wet for this."

She turned on her heel and limped into the bedroom with Tony calling behind her, "That's what she said!" as the door closed behind her. She sank onto the bed, just feeling the quiet absorb into her pores. The room was dark, the curtains drawn over the windows, and it felt safe. For the first time in days, she actually felt safe, normal. The kind of normal she'd strived for before all this happened. Before she'd met Steve.

Such a stark demarcation point, really. Life before Steve, getting up in the afternoon, going to work, doing three sets with the band, then going home to do it some more. She practiced during the day, she recorded when she had the money, but life as a musician in a popular club was about getting by, mostly, and being happy with that. The night she'd met him, she'd only meant to meet a cute guy, not become a wanted murderer, or a semi-sorta prisoner in a tower, and unwilling candidate for the Avengers.

Additionally, on the list of semi-sorta things, her situation with Steve, Captain America himself. It was one thing to lust after the idea of him, this avatar that some people held up as the pinnacle of hotness, and let's face it, he was in fact blisteringly hot. It was something else entirely getting to call him by his first name, and have him sit with you in your hospital room, and snuggle up with him on the couch, and kiss him so deeply your subconscious was still smoldering at the mere memory, and, and and…

Delilah blew out a deep, shuddering breath as she got unsteadily to her feet and wandered over to her suitcase. At least whomever packed knew to get comfy clothes. She grabbed some yoga pants and a deep teal tunic before heading back to perch on the edge of the bed. Her leg was beginning to bother her even more than normal, the wound a deep burning ache in the muscle in addition to her body's usual litany of complaints.

Steve was so perfect, in so many ways, it was hard for her to sort him out in her mind. She could not imagine what he saw when he looked at her. It wasn't a question of worth, but in so many ways, she was just lacking. Her body was a barely finished assemblage of part time science experiments, that worked on occasion and was scarred for the effort. Her heart hadn't really allowed for the possibility of anything beyond the most casual of encounters since college, with the exceptions being notable, and flagrant, failures. Nothing in her life was prepared to accept any kind of change in a relationship sense.

And yet, when she answered the soft knock at her door after she dressed, she stepped back to allow him to enter her area.

He ducked his head to look her in the eye, peering at her closely. "You feeling okay? It's dark in here."

Looking around like she hadn't been there for the previous ten minutes, Delilah cringed. "Yeah, sorry, wasn't thinking about that. Jarvis, lights please." She took a seat on the foot of the bed, immediately noticing all the things she'd hadn't done or picked up yet.

"May I?" He pointed to the spot next to her and sat when she nodded. "Better than the hospital, right?" Steve bumped against her shoulder with his as he gave her a sly smile.

"Much," she agreed. "It was just this side of what I imagine prison to be. Guess I'll be finding out soon enough."

He clicked his tongue at her and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, pulling her over to kiss the top of her head. "Eh, don't give up yet. We're still working on that end of things. Have hope."

Delilah sighed glumly. "Maybe. Maybe I deal in reality and allow for the occasional, but doubtful, surprise."

"That too. Are you tired?"

She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling everything in her life pressing down on her all at once. "In my soul," she answered.

"C'mon." It took a moment but they rearranged themselves with him sitting up against the headboard and her curled up with her head on his shoulder and her hand in the middle of his chest.

She felt herself drifting off to sleep again, a common occurrence when they were in this position, but this time she fought against it. "You don't have to stay, you know."

"Why wouldn't I?" He sounded baffled as he covered her hand with his own.

She was quiet for a moment as she organized the words in her head. "I know you feel obligated, but you really shouldn't. We've been kind of doing this whole thing between us in fast forward and kinda skipped past the bit where we really get to know each other." It wasn't that she wanted to push him away, so much as she didn't understand him. His everpresent kindness-_goodness_-rubbed her raw emotionally. After everything that happened, maybe she didn't deserve to be comforted by him, and Delilah had no idea why Steve couldn't see that.

"Yeah," he acknowledged. "No reason we can't get to that now, though."

"Maybe," she allowed. "Maybe what we're thinking of as attraction is just misplaced emotions over this whole situation."

"Misplaced emotions." He said the words like they were vile epithets.

Delilah withdrew her hand from under his and folded her arm close to her body, not quite moving away from him but definitely more self-protective. "You know, hypothetically, it could be my gratitude this is all over for now and my mother is safe, maybe my hero worship, or your compulsion to look after the weak, maybe you just like the way I sing. I don't know." She felt like the words kept coming long after she really wanted to shut up. "Like I said, hypothetically."

Steve got quiet for a while, a long while she just lay there in his arms. Part of her wanted to know what he was thinking, and part of her was afraid of the answers. She hadn't meant to say anything at all, and definitely not air out the deepest anxieties in her psyche. To be fair, she blamed the Norco.

He'd shifted next to her and she could tell he was staring at her as he spoke. "So _hypothetically_, you know my mind, huh?"

"Nah, just some thoughts I'd been having. You're wonderful, and I'm afraid." Jesus Christ, could _one _thought remain silently in her head? Just one? Dammit.

"Of?"

She tucked her chin to her chest, resolved to speak her mind but really, really hating every second of it. "You. Me. You deserve better and I don't have it in me to be your regret."

His deep sigh accompanied a growl in his chest, but he didn't let go of her. At least not for a couple minutes, and then he situated her with some pillows and swung his legs off the side of the bed. "Sit tight, I'm gonna send Clint in to check your stitches." He patted her thigh softly a couple times

"Clint? Why?" She didn't know much about the guy, but her mom said he was sweet, still. At the very least she figured he would ask Natasha or Bruce.

"Nat's over at SHIELD and Clint's the one with the most experience treating GSW's." Steve looked at her over his shoulder from the doorway with a sad smile. "Sorry. For everything." As if he had anything to apologize for. Great, she'd managed to hurt Captain America's feelings.

His last words before softly shutting the door behind him held the weight of a hammer. Her mind throbbed as she replayed their words over and over. Why did she have to say anything? Why couldn't she just have enjoyed the moment? For once, the pain in her heart equalled the pain in the rest of her person.


	6. Chapter 6

It had been two days. Two days of stress and lawyers and protests that weren't going away. Two days of playing the hurt look on Steve's face over and over again in her mind while confined to the tower with most of the team off on a mission that happened almost directly after their disagreement. Delilah had taken to hiding out in her room or in the suite with her mother, but the claustrophobia and anxiety snaking its way through her life had become constricting.

That's how she ended up in the conservatory-with the help of Jarvis. Steve, Tony, Bruce, Thor, and Natasha were off saving the world-called away not long after she and Cap parted company acrimoniously, Phil was somewhere in the building, and she'd left Clint in the living room playing Skyrim on the couch while her mother read in a nearby armchair. Delilah just needed to get out and let her fingers get some exercise for a change.

Two floors down and on the opposite side of the tower, she found the room with a locking door, some fantastic acoustics, a couple acoustic guitars on stands and a gleaming jet black Steinway grand piano, because Tony Stark that's why. It was a work of art and she had no idea how he managed to get it into this room but couldn't wait to have her hands all over it nonetheless.

Sitting at the keyboard, she peeled through some Chopin and a little Bach as a way to stretch and reacclimate her hands which hadn't touched keys in several days. It took a few of her standard classical romps to settle down enough to really do what she wanted, but when she did, she opened with one she rarely got to do on stage.

The opening strains of 'He's Funny That Way' brought a gentle curve to her lips as her eyes slipped closed, and then she was feeling her way through the song as she sang it. One day maybe she'd get a video of her work, but right now, it just felt so good, so right to have her bring the music out of her soul and let it breathe for a while.

Lyrics flowed up and through her and the tightness in her chest eased, all the stress over her situation, _Steve_, and everything else began to recede like the tide washing out to sea. Sure, her leg hurt when it hit the pedals, but even that wasn't as piquant. Right now, she was powerful, sexy, and back in control of her life, if only for a moment.

It was only after she burned through 'If I Ain't Got You', 'Goodbye Yellow Brick Road', and 'Life on Mars' did she pull her hands back and fold them in her lap. It was close but it wasn't quite just right. "Jarvis?" She asked while looking up at the ceiling. She knew she didn't have to keep looking up since he was essentially _everywhere_, but it was a habit she couldn't seem to break.

"Miss Ford," the AI answered dutifully. "How may I assist you?"

She smiled as she realized how silly her question was going to sound, but playing by herself wasn't quite getting the job done. "Could-could you accompany me? Please? Something in an E minor, maybe?"

"Number of instruments?" he asked promptly, like this was something that was requested of him all the time. It was kind of reassuring.

"Two or three? Percussion and a couple string? Jazz ensemble type? 176 bpm?" It felt so strange to have someone she couldn't see speak the language she'd known since early childhood. In many ways, it had been her first language, and hearing the computer effortlessly understand and communicate with her was a comfort she didn't even know she'd been missing.

"On your cue, ma'am."

Hands back on the keys, she started the Diana Krall tuning of 'Cry Me a River' from the beginning with Jarvis seamlessly filling in after her opening bars. Just her, the piano, a bass, guitar, and drum and suddenly she was whole again. When the song ended, she felt so giddy, it was that feeling, that elusive joy that only came from being onstage. "Next song, follow my lead, throw in a horn or two?"

"As you wish, ma'am." Damn if Jarvis didn't sound amused.

Delilah launched into the opening for the Louis Armstrong version of 'A Kiss to Build a Dream On' and when she sang, the AI followed her perfectly, as is a computer's wont. But for a moment, her whole life was normal again. The elation was short-lived, though, because when she would have looked over at her band, _her friends_, she was alone, the only occupant of the room, regardless of the music she made and just like that her good feelings came crashing to the ground around her. "Fuck," she muttered to no one in particular as she flexed her fingers and stared down at the keys which held no answers for her at all.

"Miss Ford?" Jarvis was ever solicitous.

"Nothing, Jarvis, apologies." Shaking her head, she pulled on each hand until her wrist popped satisfactorily, then very lightly began picking her way through 'Kissing a Fool'. "Drums please."

The lyrics felt like an accusation, honestly, but it felt so good to play this song, like a guilty pleasure. She never got to do it onstage, but damn if she didn't want to. The problem was, now every time she thought of being up there with the band, the very next thought was that Steve would be there to watch her. She missed that, wanted that more than air. The look on his face when she played, when she sang, like they were kindred artists, it was a benediction she wasn't worthy to receive and she damn well knew it. That was part of why she'd picked the fight with him, because she didn't want to disappoint him, like she would inevitably.

He was like Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way, and she could barely get out bed without assistance. It wasn't fair-to either of them-for her to want him when he could happy with someone else, someone much less… broken. Delilah finished that song and sighed deeply before beginning 'Bell Bottom Blues'.

"Do you take requests? Because your penchant for sad bastard music is killing me."

Delilah snatched her hands back like the keyboard was suddenly on fire as she whirled around on the bench to face Clint, who was sitting on the floor in jeans and a faded green shirt with the cutoff sleeves, fingering one of the guitars he'd snagged from its stand. He'd kindly waited until she'd gotten through a chorus before scaring the life out of her, but still. "The fuck, man. How-" her eyes cut to the still-locked door and back to him quickly. "How did you get in here? What the hell?"

He shrugged but didn't look at her as he lightly worked through fingering the fretboard to the tune of 'Hey There Delilah'. "I got bored with the game."

"You mean you died at the Thalmore Embassy again," she snarked with a knowing grin. It happened to the best of folks.

His annoyed huff was enough of an answer. "_Anyway_," he emphasized, finally looking directly at her, "I saw it was time to check your stitches," his eyes cut to the bandage peeking out from under the leg of her jeans shorts, "so I went looking for you. A locked door hasn't stopped me since I was a toddler, by the way." At her narrowed, questioning gaze, he simply looked up to the ceiling overhead with the acoustic tiles meticulously in place. Like twenty feet up. "It's what I do," he answered before she could even think about phrasing the question.

She looked at him for a long time, contemplating the ceiling, his current spot on the floor with the guitar, and her own morose mood. "'Sad bastard music', huh?"

His fingers stilled as he nodded vehemently with a look of grave seriousness on his face. "I was afraid there was gonna be Tori Amos or Counting Crows and I was gonna have to stage an intervention. Nobody wants that." Her startled bark of laughter gave way to a torrent of giggles that left her unable to answer and slightly wheezing. Ever focused on the prize, he asked again, "So, requests. You take 'em or what?"

Equal parts curious about his ability and grateful for the human companionship, she nodded. "What'd you have in mind?"

Whatever she'd been thinking, him plucking his way through the intro to 'Blister in the Sun' had not been it. She giggled as she chased after him on the keyboard, singing along with him like they did it all the time. He wasn't bad at all, really, and somehow, managed to be exactly what she needed in that moment. By the time they were done three songs later that included the Stones and the Kinks, they were teasing and laughing at each other and she was in a much better headspace.

"One more?" she asked as he was setting the instrument down.

He nodded and held up a finger. "One, and then I gotta check your wound. You get an infection and Cap'll kill me."

"All right then." Delilah turned back to the keys and played the intro to 'There She Goes'.

"Oh hell yes," was the delighted response.

When they were finally finished, he sat on the floor next to the piano bench and took a good look at her stitches, which were mostly healed and really beginning to itch.

"Don't suppose I could talk you into pulling those out before they grow into my skin?" She gave him her most winning smile to go with her hopeful tone. The desire to pluck the stitches out herself was strong, and she figured someone in the building, somewhere, had the tools to make that happen.

Clint shook his head as he taped down her bandage. "I want Bruce to take a look at them before I do, okay?" He passed a gentle thumb over the now-covered wound and then over to the older scar at her knee and another furrowed gouge a bit further down on her calf.

"I'm kinda beat up," she murmured as she took her leg back and tucked it under her on the bench. It was the most polite way she could think of to tell him her scars and marks could be the missing map to the Oak Island treasure in terms of size and scope.

Clint snorted and wrapped his arms around his knees. "I don't know if you know what I do for a living…" He blinked at her meaningfully. "Hell, what we _all_ do for a living. And most of us came here already pretty banged up." He cocked his head to the side and regarded her, seeing through her as much as seeing her looking down at him from the piano. "Scars and tattoos. They're both permanent, both run deep, and both mean as much or as little as you want."

She knew he wasn't talking solely about the physical scars, but she really didn't want to have this conversation with anyone. At all. Ever. "And both can change the way you see yourself and the way others see you." She turned back to the piano and rested her hand on the keys, fingers immediately ready to play more.

"Fair enough." Clint nodded and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I think it depends on how much you let other people see, too."

"When you're perfect, there's nothing _to_ see," she bit out, fingers easily falling into the rhythm of the Beatles 'You Never Give Me Your Money'. "Most of us don't get that luxury." She hated how petulant she sounded, but sometimes airing out insecurities was like that. They were, by nature, not necessarily rational, and right now, she certainly qualified.

"Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it's not there, and just because some things are on display doesn't mean they're the whole story," he replied kindly.

He was annoying as fuck when he was right. "Got any other wisdom you care to dispense, Mr. Fortune Cookie?" she snarked.

"Aw bite me." Clint's smirk told her he wasn't buying her sass in the slightest.

She played on, following the music in her mind rather than looking at her friend. "I think I'd rather be invisible. Life'd be a helluva lot easier."

"Liar." Clint's tone was gentle, understanding. He swiftly levered himself up from the floor and hopped up on the bench next to her just as she began to bang out the intro to 'Carry That Weight'. He let her play a verse or so before he leaned over and laid his head on her shoulder. "You shine too bright to be invisible. You'd be terrible at it." She snorted, but kept singing, wrinkling her nose at him. "I meant it as a compliment."

"I know."

* * *

The next day she showed up bright and early, first thing in the morning. Once Delilah had discovered the music room, that was the only place she wanted to be. Music had never betrayed her, music had never disappointed her, music had never failed her. As such, she really just wanted her music back.

As beautiful as it was, the music was a good way to inoculate herself against the stress of everything going on around her. It was safe, peaceful, _home_, and that was something she could definitely use in her life right about then.

Her whole body relaxed as she took a seat on the piano bench, like a breath she didn't know she'd been holding released. Every day since Steve had left for his mission, she'd come here as a means of meditation. Hands on the keyboard, she ripped through her warm up, a little Karl Phillipe Emmanuel Bach, because if it's not baroque, don't fix it. Her fingers roamed over the keys, testing the action, dancing over the ivory with the speed and skill from years of practice. It centered her and freed up her mind.

She dipped into some 10cc and Carole King, evening indulging in some Dan Fogelberg and Jackson Browne because she could. The 70's was a great decade for working out one's depression on a musical instrument. Or wallowing, as the case may be.

Letting her insecurities drive was a terrible thing, something she hated about herself, something that made her soft, vulnerable when she could least afford to be. Under other circumstances, she could rely on her routine, her tenacious grip on a normal existence to keep her from letting that side show. When all that was wrested away from her, her lizard brain, accompanied by her inner moony-eyed thirteen-year-old girl, had her acting and reacting in ways she'd thought she'd long since abandoned. It wasn't something that she was proud of, but at least she could recognize it and call it what it was.

Delilah let her sulking bleed out through her fingers, settling on Sara Bareilles 'She Used To Be Mine'. She didn't hit Jarvis up for an assist, content to be alone-alone. Maybe part of that was because she could almost hear Clint's howled accusations of 'sad bastard music'. He wasn't wrong and she wasn't in the mood to fight about it.

The lyrics that she knew by heart that she sang from memory felt a whole lot closer to her current mindset than she would have prefered. At least no one was around to hear her give voice to her shame.

She was infatuated with Steve. That's all this was. He was kind and sweet and _so pretty_. Brave and unafraid of her other form, what's not to like? Hell, he seemed more than happy to embrace both her forms, even her imperfect human one. Her own mother had even signed off on him. Sneaky bastard. To him, she wasn't just the sum of her praises or failure, she was just Delilah, and when he smiled at her, the sun shone on her face and her soul with a warmth she'd covet until the day she died. There was nothing like it at all.

And it was thoughts like that, that clearly demonstrated why she needed some emotional distance from the situation. Delilah had no business crushing on-much less lusting after-a superhero. None. No business at all. She was an egg, albeit a heavily armed one, dancing with a stone: ill-advised and ultimately catastrophic. Then why did she want to so badly?

Speaking of catastrophic… the Scylla to the Captain Charybdis was her mother. Having her mother with her at the tower was great, perfect even, but what happened when-and she wasn't under any delusions about her legal situation-she went away for everything Fury was accusing her of. Everything she _did. _

Her mother needed her, she had her sister but Aunt Lori wasn't around very much anymore and probably would move down to Florida to be closer to her kids, leaving Meredith alone. She didn't like the way her voice broke on the last few lines of the song, or the feel of hot tears breaching their primary containment to go rushing down her face and neck to pool in the collar of her shirt.

By the time she finished the song she felt wrung out, roughly mopping up the tracks of her tears with the heels of her hands. Even though, it felt good to have a little space in her head now, better out than in. It always felt better when she played, a feeling of release second only to being up onstage. Even so, she wasn't prepared for the sound of someone clapping behind her.

"I remember when I used to have to chase you down to get you to practice." Meredith chuckled as she came to lean against the open body of the piano. Last time Delilah had seen her mother, she'd been in bed asleep. With her voluminous curls rolled into a fashionable high bun and a sleeveless turquoise sheath dress, she seemed to be adapting to this whole protective custody thing really well.

She rolled a shoulder with a self-conscious smile and slight sniffle that the older woman clearly noticed; she hadn't played in front of her mother in a long time. Meredith Ford wasn't much for the club scene. "Clint send you?"

Meredith nodded slowly, hey eyes never leaving her only daughter. "He said I had to come down here and save you from some sad bastard."

Her look of confusion had Delilah snorting in amusement. "Did he now." Bratty ass. Someone ought to remind him that snitches end up in ditches.

"Seems like the only sad bastard I'm seeing down here is you. You need saving from yourself?"

The carefully worded question brought her up short, quickly. "No, ma'am." Her mom was pulling absolutely no punches, and she was surprised her nose wasn't bloody from the swing.

"I… huh." There were so many things she could say, but the verbal haymaker scattered her brains. Of all the things she'd been prepared to deal with, her mother's direct inquiry hadn't even made the short list.

Her mother watched her closely, a finger up as she assumed the pose that indicated an incoming lecture. "You've been feeling some kinda way for the last couple days, and I wasn't going to say anything because you're grown, but-"

Her derisive cackle drowned out the rest of her mother's words. "I'm sorry, Ma. I seem to have missed the part where that's _ever_ happened previously."

Meredith's eyes narrowed a fraction, her voice dropping down to a dangerous whisper, "Keep on, see how that goes."

Delilah's tactical error became glaring obvious almost instantly. Her mother's threshold for tomfoolery was meager on a good day, and today was clearly not a good day. "Sorry, Mama," she muttered to her toes. Humor was never the way to go, but damn if she could keep from trying.

She inhaled slowly through her nose and blew out the breath that sounded like fiery rage barely contained. "Now," Delilah looked back up at her, immediately taking note of the soft voice and lecturing facial expression, "you were saying."

Delilah sighed deeply, morosely. "Everything's pressing in on me, Ma. The murder charges, the lawyers-"

Her mother shook her head and crossed her arms, the picture of unimpressed lack of concern. "I'm not worried about any of those."

"Ma, who takes care of you if I go to prison?" That specter, once it came out of her mouth seemed like it took up the whole room. Even with all of her brooding over Steve, a lot of that was a convenient way to avoid this one, very vital, issue. Her mother was literally the only family she had left in this world, and with everything going on, the idea of losing her or being separated from her… "You'll be alone and I can't let that happen."

"You're not going to lose me." The look Meredith gave her when she dropped her chin and stared was the same one she got when her mother caught her sneaking in her window after curfew. "I'm not worried about that. You know why?" A quick shake of Delilah's head garnered her a small, sad smile. "Because this isn't the darkest the night has ever been, and the sun still rose then too. Front-loading your worries is only going to eat through your stomach lining, but it's not going to accomplish anything helpful. You have to trust the people around you-oncologists, lawyers, billionaire playboys, whatever-and keep moving forward. Worry's indulgent, and we honestly don't have time for that."

The tears Delilah had fought back were now flowing unabated, collecting in the soft cloth of her mother's dress as she wrapped her arms around her waist and sobbed. It felt good to just let it go for a moment. But as good as it felt to finally cry about all of this, she knew she needed to pull it together and settle down.

Meredith left a hand on Delilah's head as she pulled back and wiped her face with the tail of her shirt. "I'm sorry you felt like you had to carry that alone."

"I'm grown, remember?" Her smirk was shaky and her sass was met with a gentle flick of her mother's fingers against the tip of her nose.

"So I hear." Her mom nodded, and when Delilah looked up, she looked as brave and tough as she'd ever seen her. She remembered being sick the first time, the drawn and harrowed look on her mom's face as she went through radiation and surgery. The face she wore then was the one she had now, resolute that they would prevail because she wouldn't allow for any other outcome. "We'll carry this together like everything else."

Her mom offered her a hand up from the piano bench and she took it, grabbing her cane and heading toward the door. Something her mother said tangled up in her mind as she cleaned up her face some more and waited for the elevator. "You really trust Tony?"

Meredith's tiny smile grew a little and caused her eyes to crinkle at the edges. "I do. He's… different," she allowed with a shrug, "but he's looked out for you when he clearly didn't have to. His heart is good. Your mystery-white-boy's is, too."

At the so-not-subtle mention of Steve, Delilah rolled her eyes. "Really, Ma?"

"Really. And not just because he's Captain America." Her mother wrinkled her nose as she strode confidently off the elevator into the common area where Clint was waiting at the kitchen table with a plate piled with tiny sandwiches. "I mean, you could do _better_, but he ain't bad."

"Ma!"

* * *

"Echinoderms can kiss my ass," Tony muttered on the flight home from the copilot's seat. He looked like he'd gone three rounds with a washing machine mangler and was quite the worse for wear. Bruises in varying colors and states of healing, a shiner with the swelling only just receded, and that was overlooking the occasional cuts and abrasions on his hands from where one of the hostile, apparently carnivorous sea stars had managed to damage/wrest away a gauntlet. "Giant. Sentient. _Sapient_. Starfish. Who _does_ that?"

"The damn arms regenerate when you cut them off," Natasha groused, sounding wholly offended at the concept of truncated mayhem. "How the hell are you supposed to stop an enemy if you can't dismember it and make it stick?" It was clearly a rhetorical question.

"The university apologized and it appears they're pulling funding on the research if it makes you feel any better," Bruce noted, cleaning his glasses with the corner of the blanket wrapped around him. The Other Guy had really saved the day tearing through the genetically enhanced starfish faster than they could regenerate until all the pieces and parts could be corralled. Until then, though, it had been a free for all. Thor's hair may never recover, and he was in the back of the jet, likely in quiet mourning.

"It does not, actually," he sniped, rubbing a bandage on his wrist absently. A muscle in his jaw twitched every once in a while as he shifted in the seat in annoyance. "So, you gonna talk about it?"

Steve's head whipped around at the question, apropos of nothing, that Tony had tossed off absently. "Talk about what? The feel of a starfish trying to digest my shield? While I'm still holding it? I'd rather not." As it was, those damn creatures were going to feature spectacularly in his night terrors for at least a couple days.

"Hey, at least you got your shield back." He looked pointedly at his bandaged hand. "What I was talking about was whatever made you mad enough to charge into a constellation of starfish…" he paused as he thought it over. "Constellation? Galaxy? School?"

"Galaxy," Natasha confirmed, not looking up from whatever she was reading on her phone.

"Right, whatever made you charge into a galaxy of man-eating starfish, we should probably talk about that."

He could feel Tony's eyes boring into the side of his head, and since they had at least another hour before they would touch down on Avengers Tower, Steve knew that he wouldn't relent and let it go. "I don't suppose 'it seemed like a good idea at the time' would be an acceptable response."

"From anyone else, maybe," Tony allowed. "From a man with essentially a practical doctorate in field tactics, not even a little bit."

Steve hated when Tony used his credentials against him. Just once he'd like to be allowed to be just a fella who was distracted because he screwed up with his girl somehow. "First of all, I had no idea starfish were so aggressive."

"Anemones would definitely disagree," Bruce mumbled from his seat. The strain of being The Other Guy was taking its toll, leaving Dr. Banner slowly slumping his way to a nap in his seat. And yet another reason Steve didn't want to have this conversation now: too many interested ears.

"Noted." He wasn't really sure how to respond to that, but felt like Bruce needed to know he'd been heard, and Steve really didn't want to talk to Tony.

"Was there a second point?" Tony asked mildly. "You opened with a 'first of all' which usually means there was something to follow up." The smirk playing around the corners of his mouth made Steve want to punch him.

"The second point," he didn't even bother to hide his disgruntlement, "Is that I didn't think it would take this long to deal with them. Three days of fighting, one day of cleanup. They're starfish for God's sake!"

Tony's eyes widened as he watched Cap closely. That was as close to swearing as he'd heard him get when not in battle and it was… concerning.

He wasn't finished though. "They're cute! They're small, and people put them in aquariums. They have names like chocolate chip and sunflower-"

"And the next thing you know they're lifesize and have devoured two college interns," Bruce finished for him.

"Exactly." _That_ was an image he could have gladly gone the rest of his life without. He couldn't suppress the shudder as it played out in his mind again, complete with screaming. Nightmare fuel for sure.

"Cap…" from the tone of his voice, it hadn't been Tony's first attempt at getting his attention. "You seem a bit tense." His light tone only underscored the concern on his face.

"I don't want to talk about it." It had been too much to hope that he'd be able to distract Tony for long.

"Did you two have a fight?"

Needling he could take. Hell, needling from Tony was expected, it was the compassion however that set Steve's teeth on edge. He shifted in his seat and set his jaw. "Fighting would involve both parties instead of one party making unilateral decisions. And what part of 'I don't want to talk about it' was unclear to you?"

Tony's expression shifted from concern to wariness as he regarded Cap's profile. "What kind of decision?" That he conveniently ignored Steve's admonishment was nothing new and honestly, he expected nothing less from his friend.

"Decision is the wrong word." Since they were, apparently, going to have this conversation he decided to lay it all out there. "Proclamations maybe? Hell, I don't know. She thinks I view her as an obligation. How horrible is _that_?"

"Do you?" Natasha asked, clearly invested in the conversation he didn't want to have now.

"Of course not," he snapped. "I just… I know things between us have been kind of backwards and upside down, but 'obligation' never crossed my mind." He frowned as he remembered her voice, so cautious and devoid of emotion even as she snuggled up against his side. "Why would she even _think _that?"

Natasha held up her fingers, listing one item at a time. "So you're saying she thinks you rescue fugitive mutants and their mothers, move them into the Avengers tower no matter how temporarily, and generally fawn all over them just as a matter of course?"

"Yeah. And I don't _fawn_." He frowned as he thought about it. "I mean, I care about other people, that's what empathy and compassion _are_, but this isn't that. At all." He rubbed his temples feeling like by all rights he should have a hell of a tension headache brewing. "I mean, it is those things, obviously, but not solely."

"Then maybe you should make that clear." Natasha's calm voice was comforting as she overtook the steering of the conversation.

"How could it not be clear?" Eyes narrowed, he turned in his seat to face her.

The assassin considered him for a moment, her scrutiny always feeling like an interrogation. "Perhaps" she suggested gently, "the ghosts your fighting aren't your own?"

Now she was just talking in riddles. "Meaning?"

She reached down by her ankle and pulled up a bottle of water, sipping as she eyed him. "Perhaps she's used to certain types of relationships with men and not accustomed to anything else."

"Why the hell would that be the case?" He wasn't trying to be obtuse, truly, but she was amazing and he couldn't imagine why someone else wouldn't see that. "She's beautiful and wonderful and kind and sings like an angel. Hell, two angels, fuck it, a whole choir of angels. Who couldn't appreciate that?"

Tony marveled as Steve casually just dropped an f-bomb in the middle of conversation like it wasn't a big goddamn deal. "And it's not even my birthday."

Natasha's hiss of annoyance stifled any further commentary from the copilot's seat. "I know you think so and that's great." Her smile was soft, kind of sad, and knowing in a way that he knew he shouldn't probe. "Men have certain… habits. Desires, and not all of them are as kind or as... " she rolled her lips between her teeth as she settled on how to phrase it, "_open-minded_ as you are."

Never in his life had he heard 'open-minded' used as an epithet, the implications of which made his stomach churn. "Because she's black? I didn't think other people had a problem with that anymore."

Nat cringed. "Yeah, that's one reason of several off the top of my head. All the more reason to talk to her and tell her what's on your mind. You don't know the kinds of other guys she's dealt with, but if she's skittish, there's a reason."

The idea that someone hurt her made his mouth go dry as his temper spiked. "I see. So she thinks I'm going to hurt her too is what you're saying?" He was going to talk to Delilah, get a list of these men. He only wanted to talk to them, really. Just talk.

The deep sigh from the seat behind him was long-suffering and slightly impatient. "She's used to men treating her a certain way and she doesn't know how to interpret, or trust, your actions. You're going to need to spell it out." Satisfied that she'd imparted the wisdom these two idiots needed, she sat back in her seat and pulled out her phone, scrolling through her Twitter feed.

Tony watched her closely for a moment before turning to Steve and stage-whispering, "Thank God Nat's here, you know my Tony-to-relationship translator is decidedly broken in the 'short term' position." Her very unladylike snort brought a smile his lips as he turned around and faced the growing glow of New York City on the horizon.

Steve was quiet as he ruminated on this new knowledge. He didn't know why it hadn't occurred to him previously but hell, that's why he had friends, to see the blind spots he missed. This was fixable, this was eminently fixable.

"You good, Capsicle?" his friend asked from the copilot's seat as Steve capably maneuvered them to the landing pad.

He nodded smartly, feeling more together and focused than he had in days. "Much better, thank you."

"Happy to be of service."

* * *

"Jarvis, my friend, we're doing different things today." Delilah announced as she strode into the music room in much higher spirits on the fourth day since the team had left for their mission. And the day they were due home, according to Clint, who'd gotten the info from Phil, who may as well have been the burning bush on the mount.

It was early afternoon now, much later than she normally showed up, but she'd spent the day enjoying the sun on the balcony and helping Clint with the finer points of backgammon strategy. He was hopeless at it, but for the first time in so long, she felt a lot more normal. After her mother dipping her in a vat of 'get right' the day before, she felt better, mentally, than she had prior to all this starting. Her confidence returning, she decided to abandon her steady diet of sad bastard music in favor of something much more lively.

"As you wish, Miss Ford." The AI sounded amused as she practically bounded through the room, or at least as much as her hitched gait and cane would allow.

"How do you feel about Queen?" She took a seat on the bench and cracked open the lid over the keys, deciding to forego her usual warm-up for something rowdier.

"One of Sir's favorites," he replied approvingly. "Did you have something in mind or should I just pick something?"

Her mouth rounded into an excited 'o' at the AI's suggestion and she tossed her ponytail over her shoulder, feeling sassy. "Hit it."

Freddie's voice filled the room, opening with 'Somebody to Love' and her smile was so wide her cheeks hurt as her hands immediately snapped to attention and began to play. She led them into 'Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy' and chased after Jarvis again on 'Killer Queen'. By the time she had finished that, she was laughing and sweating, her playing feeling more life-affirming and a lot less like penance.

"My turn," she murmured and took off in a different direction entirely, banging out the opening to 'Doctor, My Eyes'. It reminded her of her early days in college, making money in a piano bar singing for tips three nights a week while playing. Life had been a lot simpler then.

From there, she launched into Billy Joel's 'Only the Good Die Young'. It was a physical song, as most of his works were if she wanted to faithfully follow the album and sing, but man did she love it. She transitioned immediately to 'Big Man on Mulberry Street', her personal favorite, with Jarvis backing her up with heavy horns and craziness. The elation of singing and playing and carrying on was just transporting, and by the time she and the AI finished it plus another three or four songs, she was panting and he informed her he would send up a 'bot with water for her.

"You're incredible, you know that?"

She spun around on the bench so fast she would have swooned across the piano if she hadn't been seated. Leaning against the closed door was Steve, in an obscenely tight white t-shirt and his hand in the pockets of jeans that she was sure should be illegal for a man with his thighs, hair still damp from the shower. One corner of his mouth curled up in a half grin that made her cheeks flush with heat, in short he was perfect.

"Hiya, doll."

"Hi back." Delilah pushed to her feet with her cane and he was across the room, faster than she could blink. He cradled her face in both hands, sealing her lips with his for a brief, but chaste kiss. It was sweet, delicate, perfect. Her free hand came up to hold his wrist while her other hand held firm with her cane.

When he pulled back and gazed at her, blue eyes dark like the deepest ocean, he smiled down at her with a soul-cleansing kind of joy she couldn't help but return. "Exactly what I needed," he murmured, his gravelly voice sending a shiver down her spine as his thumbs ghosted over her cheekbones. Steve pulled her closer to him, shifting a hand behind her neck and the other drifting down her t-shirt to wrap around her waist as he slanted his mouth across hers for a much more thorough taste.

He smelled like leather and soap and sandalwood, and she felt like she could get lost in just his scent. Not content to sit still, she raked her fingernails across his scalp, carding her fingers through his soft, damp hair, feeling his answering growl deep in his chest vibrate through her.

The spike of lust that shot through her weakened her knees and Steve compensated by grabbing her by the hips and lifting her into him without even breaking the kiss. Her cane clattered to the floor as she held onto his shoulder. Her other hand was occupied with a handful of his ultrasoft cotton shirt, and she felt the quick tattoo of his heartbeat behind the warm, muscular wall of his chest.

The way she purred at his touch earned her a quick squeeze as he broke away from her lips and nibbled his way down her jawline to a spot under her ear that made her gasp and squirm in his arms. When they finally separated to take a much needed breath, she touched her thoroughly ravished lips.

He looked so damn delicious with his swollen red lips and darkened blue eyes, it was hard to concentrate enough to make conversation. "I-um… that is… Wow." She blinked at him as she felt her face flush with embarrassed heat.

His half grin was back, curling up one corner of his lips slowly as he gazed affectionately at her. Steve looked so damn pleased with himself at her dazed expression, he couldn't help teasing her. "I'd never thought I'd see the day when _you _were speechless."

She wrinkled her nose in mock irritation. "Oh, I'm sorry. You take a whisk to my brain and expect cogent conversation? That's just cruel."

He threw his head back with an evil little giggle. "And she's back." Slowly he let her slide back down until her feet touched the floor, the delicious friction of her soft body against his a sexy little thrill. She'd looked so good in her comfortable jeans and long t-shirt hanging off her shoulder with her hair pulled back, she looked a lot like she did the first time he saw her. Steve had a hard time restraining himself.

"I missed you, too." Up this close to him made it difficult for her to think, he was all megawatt smile and beautiful eyes and unreasonably strong arms… He was just so damn sweet it made her whole body ache, but still she couldn't get past the gnawing sense of unease at the back of her mind. "I'm sorry."

He adored the tiny frown lines between her eyebrows and the way she worried her lower lip between her teeth and damn if they didn't make him want to kiss her all over again. "Before we get into this conversation, you mind if we go someplace?"

Delilah blinked warily before nodding. "Sure. You got a destination in mind?" She knelt quickly and retrieved her cane from the floor.

He winked at her as he took her other hand, leading her to the elevator. "You trust me?"

"Hmm." She made a show of really thinking it over, staring at the ceiling of the elevator and tapping her chin, at least, until he lightly shoulder checked her. "You're Captain America. What kind of question is that?"

Steve stuck his tongue out at her in response, leaving both of them giggling as they rode the elevator up past the common floor. With his hand on her back, he regaled her with tales of the vicious starfish and why, when she does see Tony, she probably shouldn't ask about his black eye. It was comforting, normal, like the dark cloud that settled over them when she'd been sprung from SHIELD Medical had lifted.

The living space just off the elevator on his floor is much cozier and lived in. There were little touches of him everywhere, from the art on the walls to the books on every available surface. He herded her to the overstuffed blue sectional with a giant chenille throw blanket across the back of it, installing her in the fluffiest corner with the chaise so he could prop up her injured leg with some generously tufted throw pillows before taking off to the kitchen.

"Starfish, huh?" she called after him. "Sounds like that scene from the Sorcerer's Apprentice. Yowza."

He was practically beaming as he hustled out of the kitchen with two bottles of water. "_Exactly like that._ Except with no musical score." With a frown he cocked his head to the side as he looked over her leg. The bandage wasn't visible, but he still worried. "You sure you're alright there? I mean, I could get you an ice pack or more pillows or…" he trailed off a he looked around the room pensively.

"I'm sure you're exhausted, Steve, come," she patted the cushion next to her, "have a seat and relax. I'm okay." His look of vexation didn't dissipate when he gingerly dropped onto the couch next to her. "Tell me about Fantasia."

He settled in facing her with a fond, faraway grin, one foot braced against the edge of the coffee table. "I saw that movie in the theatre on R&R. Never seen anything like it."

Delilah blinked, reminded in a very concrete way that this man's life had been upended by his gift the same way hers had. A warm feeling of kinship and understanding bloomed in her chest. "My mom showed it to me when I was three or four, and promptly regretted it. Let's just say I've seen the movie a lot. Like _a lot._" She widened her eyes briefly for emphasis. "You?"

Steve stretched his arm across the back of the couch on top of the cushions and grinned when she reached out and tangled her fingers with his. "I'd never seen art like that. Color like that. Hell, animation like that. It blew my mind honestly." He sipped his water as his gaze settled on the stack of books in the middle of the coffee table. "It was transformative, really. The idea of art that could move like that." His smile faded a little before his attention returned to her.

"Disney movies have always been like that for me. Singing, dancing, the art…" She sipped her water with a wry grin and a snort, shifting to face him more fully. "I'm pretty sure those movies are part of the reason I learned to play the piano, but that's a longer conversation."

He dipped his chin and looked up at her through his unreasonably long lashes and softly growled, "I have time if you do."

The deep timbre of his voice shot straight through her and she locked her jaw against the unexpected wave of heat that flowed in its wake. "Another time, maybe." She sipped her water and trying to focus on anything other than the warmth of their joined hands or the feather-light brush of his thumb against her knuckles. "My mind's still stuck on the starfish. I have this image of Patrick the Starfish strapped up with a bandolier and dressed up as Che Guevara and nothing good happens after that." Delilah chuckled to herself which became outright giggles in the face of Steve's look of utter confusion. "Spongebob?" A blink was his only reply. "Oh," she felt like a jackass and pulled her hand back from his in embarrassment. "Okay then. Sorry, it was funny to me."

Steve shrugged with a sigh. "It's okay. I figure understanding one pop culture reference a day is really my limit anyway." His small self-conscious smile was equal parts adorable and heartbreaking. He was trying so hard and the world appeared to cut him absolutely no breaks.

"So I spoke to your mom," he opened gingerly, looking as distinctly uncomfortable in the shift in topics as she felt as he studied the water bottle in his hands intently.

"Ah Jesus." It was all she could do to keep back her hum of irritation as she dropped her head back on the couch cushion behind her to stare holes in his ceiling.

Hand up, he tried to keep her from getting the wrong idea. "No, no. Not like that." She raised an eyebrow as she turned her head toward him. "I asked her if you were okay after I left."

She didn't like where this was going at all. "Let me guess, she sold me right out wholesale."

He rolled a shoulder in an unapologetic shrug, still not quite looking at her. "Well, if she didn't, Clint seemed pretty eager to."

"That dirty motherf-" she pressed her fist to her lips to cut herself off from finishing that invective, again staring at the perfectly white ceiling and concentrating on breathing through her nose and not becoming a dragon. She didn't know if she should be enraged, mildy piqued, or just amused at this point. The anger and upset that came from her and Steve's previous conversation prior to his mission had dissipated so far, she had to work to untangle the feelings associated with it.

Concerned, Steve took her hand between both of his, petting her as if that alone could soothe her annoyance. "He just worried, that's all, doll."

Him being right only made her pout more pronounced. "'Hawkeye,' my ass," she grumbled under her breath. "Shoulda been called 'Magpie'." Steve's surprised bark of laughter sounded like he was choking for a moment. "You good, Cap?"

The chuckles subsided into a cough that had him waving off her concern. "'M fine." He took a few deep breaths to get himself under control, then gazed at her fondly with his trademark crooked grin. "So," he cleared his throat when his voice came out extra deep. "Chatty Cathy aside, you doing okay?"

Delilah sighed as she watched the slow, repetitive sweep of his hand back and forth across hers. "I just… I had some things to work through-I _have_ some things to work through." He cocked his head to the side looking interested and she sighed. "Look, I'm… _complicated_."

He scoffed, "Really. I had no idea." His quiet chuckle and warm smile held no mockery, which was a small mercy.

"All right, smartass." It felt a little sacrilegious calling him that, but it was true and she wasn't taking it back. "I'm… I exist in a state of constant terror." When his only response was to blink and gesture for her to continue with his water bottle, she added, "I'm always waiting for the next reaction. The next interaction that's going to touch off something terrible, and I can't stop it. Relaxation and complacency have some pretty hellified consequences attached. I can't make it work or make it any better, and honestly, when the opportunity comes to give in to the depression, I take it. Depression, for me, is easier. Sad is a helluva lot less destructive than angry."

"I don't know about all that." He finished his drink and set it on the table, lacing their fingers together again like it was totally natural between them. "Sadness can be pretty damn destructive, especially when it keeps you from living the life you want."

His relentless optimism made the corner of her mouth twitch as her eyes began to burn. "There is no possible circumstance in which I get to live the life I want." If her voice broke and died as she spoke, that was between her, him, and Jarvis, and Jarvis could be trusted.

"How d'ya figure?" God, he looked so serious and sincere and it was beyond comforting given the conversation topic, even if it was totally unrealistic.

"I am not…" she closed her eyes and shook her head and started again. "I want nothing more in in this world than to sing, be on stage, and be a musician. That's really all I want. My whole life. And yet, here I sit, waiting to hear if I'm going to go on trial for being a murderer for something I can't control. Or rather, something I _can_ control, but lost control of."

He raised her hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. "In your defense, both times really weren't your fault."

"That's not helpful at the moment, babe." She laughed in irritation. His lips twitched at the pet name but that was the only acknowledgement of it. "I want a quiet life. I want a normal life, and I can't have that, and I'm mad. It feels like I'm going to stay mad forever."

"It doesn't have to be like that." He scooted over until he was right next to her, her hand in his as he cradled it in his lap. She watched his face as he worked through organizing his thoughts, unsure about where he was going with this.

"My whole life stopped when I crashed that plane in the ocean. The woman I love, gone. My best friend, gone. The war I was fighting, I didn't even know we won until I woke up defrosted." There was no denying the rawness of his voice, it went with this rawness of his thoughts. This was an open wound for him, one that wouldn't ever really mend completely, but he was learning to live with it. His eyes dropped to their hands as he licked his lips. His shaky, barely audible sigh had her lifting his hand to her lips like he'd done for her.

A muscle in his jaw tensed, revealing a brief, tremulous smile. "I've been trying to figure out where I fit in all of this now. Everything I thought I wanted, everything I was putting off until after the war, became immaterial because there was no 'after' for me. There's just 'now'." He fell silent again, gnawing on his bottom lip and gazing at her pensively. "Maybe though," he swallowed hard, "maybe it doesn't hurt to find something else to want." He swept her ponytail off her shoulder and settled his palm on the back of her neck.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the warm, gentle pressure of his fingertips against her skin. "I'm afraid of that, honestly."

"So you've said." His deep voice was so warm, so comforting, it was tempting to just let go and enjoy this moment with him.

"I'm bad at this," she warned him softly, nervous laughter coloring her voice. "I'm bad at this. I can't relax. I'm always on guard. I'm always… I'm passive because I know if I get worked up about anything I'm dangerous, so people-men-walk all over me. And I hate that, but I can't stop it either. I'm…" she flailed her free hand around in agitation, "bad at this. Anything more than a quick fling and I'm out the door."

He nodded solemnly, his eyes darkening but never leaving hers as his fingers gently massaged her neck. "Out of curiosity, do those _reprobates_," and the way he said the word sounded like he was spitting, "the ones you used to see, do they know who you are really?"

A muscle in her cheek ticked as she gave him a melancholy smile. "Not normally, no," she whispered with her chin tucked to her chest. "I mean, they probably do _now_ but not when we were seeing each other." It wasn't the kind of parlor trick she could show off at parties, and was too dangerous to show just anyone. Ironically, her gift of fire had been her darkest secret.

With a finger under her chin, he tilted her face until her uncertain eyes met his. His smile was back, much more confident now as he shifted even closer to her. "Then we're already starting at a completely different place, doncha think?"

His lips were on hers then, soft and warm and… perfect. Her heart pounding in her ears and he smelled like soap and laundry detergent and it was just a hot second before he stretched out over her, pressing her back into the plush couch cushions, and she wanted to touch him more than anything else in the world. "I don't think there's any harm," he whispered against her lips, their breaths mingling as they both absorbed the effects of the kiss, "in wanting something else." Kiss. "Doing something a little different." He punctuated the sentence with a lingering kiss that left her whimpering and rising slightly to chase his lips when he pulled back once more. "You'd be surprised at how much your life changes with just a little adjustment here or there."

"Oh yeah?" She giggled as she nuzzled her nose against his before tasting his lips again. His kisses were drugging, addictive, and were almost enough to distract her from the burning pain that shot up her leg the moment she wrapped it around his hip to pull him closer. She gasped as he rolled his hips against hers, his interest in the proceedings more than evident and god, she just wanted one good, untainted thing… She breathed his name as he scraped his teeth over her earlobe and he pulled back to look at her.

The blue in his eyes was but a memory, swallowed by pupils blasted with lust and late evening rays of the sun that were receding across the room. His breathing hitched as they moved against each other, each adjusting to this new configuration of the two of them. "You alright?"

The husky whisper, a barely intelligible rumble in his chest, shot straight to her clit, bypassing all stops in between and she whimpered involuntarily as her body rose to curl into his. "Never better," she assured him, running a hand over his pecs and down his abs, her fingertips memorizing the tantalizing topography of all that muscle through the thin cotton of his shirt. He was beautiful and damn if she was going to stop now. Cupping the incredibly flattering ridge hidden behind the zipper of his jeans, she batted her eyes at him innocently. "How _you _doin', Cap?"

His sharp, drawn out gasp sounded suspiciously like, "Fuuuuuuuck!" as his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. "I… um… yes. I… I'm good." The way he looked at her, like she was made of gold and tasted like his favorite candy never failed to blow her mind. "And… um… considering where you have your hand? Maybe you could call me Steve."

"Oh yeah?" Delilah loved the way his mouth fell open and his eyes lost focus as she stroked him.

"Mm-hmm." His forehead set against hers, he watched her work him over for a moment, too many clothes in the way but getting the job done nonetheless. When she yanked on the hem of his shirt to untuck it from his jeans, he surged over her again in a kiss that should have scorched the sofa. His kisses were urgent, sloppy, sucking her upper lip and lower lips before making his way to her neck and jaw. One hand still cradling her head, his other hand wandering, digging into her hip as she ground against him before making its way up to the neckline of her shirt, the only impediment between his lips and more of her delicately soft skin.

"You like this shirt?" he breathed between biting kisses on her neck that she knew were probably going to bruise.

Delilah threaded her fingers through his hair and guided his mouth back to hers, sliding her tongue against his the moment he slanted his mouth over hers. Pulling back, she stared him straight in the eyes and answered, "No."

Steve wasted no time shifting to his knees between her splayed out thighs and making short work of rending her t-shirt down the middle from her neck to her waist. The look of satisfaction and lust of his face was enough to melt her panties straight off.

All it took was a crook of her finger and a wicked grin to make him pounce, a deep groan vibrating through him as he buried his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder. "You feel so good, god _damn_." His hands roamed over her chest, up to cup her ample breasts, rubbing and kneading them until she began to squirm beneath him then down to hold her hips while he let her know exactly how much he wanted her.

"Steve…" she sighed against his neck as she dug her fingers into his biceps. "Fuck me."

His groan as he quickly skinned her out of her jeans and panties was toe-curling, hot breath against her skin followed by the occasional petal-soft brush of his lush mouth. This was so much faster than she'd imagined but so much better to have him here to touch than to just rely on what was in her head. One kiss and her imagination smoldered, after this, her damn brain would be a conflagration.

The Steve in her imagination hadn't exactly been shy, but she definitely had not expected him to be the guy slowly eating her mouth from the inside as his fingers meandered up her inner thigh with a clear destination in mind. The first brush of his fingers against her slit had her arching up into him, gripping his arms hard enough to leave half-moons marks from her nails, a cry torn from deep in her chest.

"Yeah," he sighed against her neck just below her ear, his voice a rumble that made her squirm even more. "I love how wet you are for me, Delilah. I've been thinking about this," he broke of to groan softly as his finger circled her clit and her body undulated into his touch, "_fuck me._ God, I've been thinking about this all day. Being with you, touching you." He pulled his fingers out and stared her down as he made a show of licking her juices off each. "You taste so fucking good. I can't wait until you smear this all over my face, baby. You ready for me?"

Her mouth fell open as he slid two fingers into her, her moans mixing liberally with the filthiest swearing she could lay her lips to. He was good, her Cap, too damn good and the way he touched her had her coming apart for him in practically no time at all, curling his fingers just so inside her as his thumb focused on her clit. The moment he gently bit her nipple and sucked it deeply into his mouth, she hoped like hell the whole rest of the tower couldn't hear her because there was no way to come quietly after that.

He talked the whole time, praise and encouragement, the litany of debauched, pornographic indecencies rolling off his tongue straight into her pussy damn near melted her into the fabric of the couch cushions. Not gonna lie, his wholesome 'aw shucks, ma'am' persona made defiling him that much hotter for her. It was a kink which had sprung up spontaneously that she planned to unpack later.

Clutching his wrist firmly in her hand brought his blasted out blue eyes to hers. "Now, Cap. I can't wait. _I need it._" Any other commentary was smothered by the moan as he immediately moved over her and spread her thighs a bit more with her knees draped over his forearms. It wasn't the most comfortable position she'd been in, but when he leaned over her and slid that truly epic cock into her body an inch at a time she no longer cared.

"Ah _Gawd,_ so fucking tight! _ugh..._ Delilah, you're killin' me. So good, dollface," he groaned with his head thrown back, the cords of muscle at his neck standing out as he eased his way into her so agonizingly slowly.

Fucking freedom, fucking patriotism, and easily the largest dick she'd ever had the pleasure of riding. Unbelievably thick, she hadn't really thought through the whole situation when she initially had her hand in his jeans. Oh she'd felt the impressive girth but somehow that hadn't translated to the Vlad the Impaler impression he was doing right then. Not that she was complaining. She could barely form words around the delicious stretch of him sliding in and out of her at a leisurely pace, her throat almost raw from the loud and ceaseless moans and gratitude that came spilling out of her mouth.

Delilah was a vision and he wanted to memorize every single inch of her in that moment. One arm over her head, the other tightly gripping the couch cushion beneath her, plush velvet mouth agape, shirt open so he could watch her breasts jiggle and bounce as he drove into her, she was the perfect embodiment of Bernini's ecstatic St. Theresa and he'd never seen anything more beautiful.

She reached for him then, and he let his hands slide up her silken thighs as he leaned in close with both hands braced on either side of her. Her purr and full body stretch against him made his whole body throb with the need to come. "Steve," she whispered, her hot breath telegraphing fire across his skin as she cupped a hand around the back of his neck and traced her tongue around the edge of his ear, "fuck me into the floor."

He met her command with a groan as his arms collapsed. Gathering her close, he swallowed her squeak of surprised as his hips snapped against hers, driving into her with much more force than he had previously. The way she sucked on his tongue and clawed his shoulders only stoked him higher as he abandoned all attempts at being gentle.

Delilah's legs wrapped around his narrow hips, heels digging into his muscular thighs for leverage as she chased the release her body craved. There was nothing she wanted more in this world than to know how it felt to melt around his stiff shaft as he pounded into her. "Fuck-Steve-I'm-"

"Yeah-" he shifted then, balancing his weight on hand as his other slipped between them. He knew exactly what to do, his fingers zeroing in on her clit and rubbing it in tight circles in time with his thrusts. "Fuck! Now… Delilah, beautiful, come for me now-"

She lost her mind not a moment after, the heat surging through her body would have been worrisome except she felt too damn good to care. There was none of the fear and nothing but pleasurable goosebumps and as she felt her pussy clench around him. Steve's rhythm stuttered, falling off into only a handful of sloppy thrusts before he followed her over into the abyss, swelling and spilling his seed inside her in heavy spurts.

For a moment the sound in the living room was little more than competing panting breaths and lips against skin as they came back to themselves. Her fingertips slipped lightly over his sweaty muscles, up and down his biceps, down his back, an idle path borne of a simple need to maintain contact in the aftermath of some absolutely hellified sex.

"Fuuuuuuck," she muttered vehemently, trying to corral brain cells that had gone out to pasture and were roaming free range. Steve hummed in agreement, pressing little sucking kisses to her shoulder, her collarbone, her cheek, the point of her chin in his quest for her mouth. His tongue flicked over her bottom lip, sucking it lightly before sealing his mouth over hers and sliding his tongue against hers. He kissed like he had a PhD in pleasure and a thesis to defend.

When he pulled back, it was with a highly amused grin and a rueful chuckle. "That was _not_ how I intended that to go."

A giggle burst out of her, unbidden. "Oh? Oh really?" Even in the mostly dark room, the flush of his cheeks and silly grin made her laugh some more as she shifted underneath him, suddenly reminded that he was still inside her. "So," she paused to take a deep breath as he moved and brushed against her in a way that had all her nerve ending calling in from their posts. She faked a cough as she attempted to focus on conversation that didn't involve moaning and/or begging, and tried again. "So, out of curiosity, how _did _you see that going? Because I thought the results were spectacular, not gonna lie."

"Wasn't fishin' for compliments, but thanks." Steve wrinkled his nose at her and nipped her chin before dropping his forehead onto the cushion next to her. His mouth immediately went to her shoulder, giving in to the urge to feel the soft skin against his lips and between his teeth. "I intended romance, if that's worth anything. Like wine and roses and everything."

He shifted again on the couch and she bit back a groan as he pressed deeper within her. "Uh huh," she encouraged him to continue breathlessly.

"And then _somebody _told me to fuck them into the damn floor n' I kinda lost my mind," he broke off as his breath caught and he moved within her again with the tiniest swivel of his hips. "_God_."

Her laugh was a little more than a wheeze. "I see." She was having a hard time breathing, and she couldn't tell if it was the giant human being laying on top of her or the fact that he was slowly fucking her stupid. "I'm not sorry."

Steve hummed contentedly as he pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to her lips. "Somehow I didn't think you would be." He wiggled again, then his stomach growled aggressively, shattering the moment that had been building between them. "Um… sorry?"

Delilah blinked at the sound, then snorted, the sexy vibe between them long gone, leaving an amused fondness in its wake. "Christ, dude. I thought all the biting was a sex thing. If you were hungry, you should have said so!"

He rolled his eyes and pushed to his knees and forearms over her and still between her outspread thighs. The positioning was remarkably intimate given their nakedness, but she wasn't going to mention it if he didn't because the view was fucking exceptional. A too-tight shirt that was more of a display than an article of clothing, muscular thighs cast in shadows and a half-hard cock that was still covered in a mix of their juices, he was perfection and perfect was, in that moment, staring down at her mostly naked body with the cutest pout she'd ever seen. "I was attending to a much more pressing hunger at the time. I didn't figure on a gastric mutiny." Only _he_ could make that sound like he was chastising her.

She giggled and pushed up to where she was reclining on her elbows, enjoying his involuntary whine when she thrust out her tits. "Whatever, Captain Cannibal. Next thing you know, you'll be telling me that 'eating me out' is just a metaphor."

He licked his lips then, dragging his gaze back to her captivating dark eyes. His slow grin was the definition of licentious. "Not at all. I'll have you know I take the idea of eating your pussy very seriously and plan to do so very literally and very, very thoroughly." He finished with a quick flick of his tongue around his too red lips and fuck if her knees didn't just take a powder, falling further open for him and tilting up her hips a bit more.

Whatever he'd done in a past life to deserve this, he'd never been more grateful. "You're something else, you know that?" he whispered, the awe and affection in his voice plain.

Delilah's whimper was unmistakable and she wasn't even a little bit sorry. She only had to lean up a bit more and her lips were against his throat, enjoying the warmth of his skin and the staccato beat of his heart rate accelerating against her lips and tongue as she gave him the same treatment he'd given her collarbones. As it was, she'd need extensive concealer to cover up his attentions if she needed to go back onstage with something slinky and strapless.

Any actions she may have wanted to undertake, though, were cut off when his stomach gurgled again. "That sounded painful, babe." The term of endearment seemed to just roll off her tongue now where he was concerned.

"Hell," he muttered as he slowly lowered himself back onto her and hid his over-warm face in her shoulder. "I'm sorry, dollface."

Her fingers began threading through the ultra-fine hairs on the back of his head, petting him just because she could. "Steve." She waited until he was looking her in the eye before continuing, "Did you eat after you got back?" He dropped his head back to her chest with a mumble and she snickered. "Okay, I see how it is. Get up and go make some food. I'm gonna go get a little cleaned up here and then I'll meet you in there. Work for you?"

His look of hopefulness was kind of heartbreaking, like kindness and consideration weren't things he's used to experiencing. "You're not mad?"

She wanted to roll her eyes but refrained and kissed the tip of his nose instead. "Nope." She tapped his hip and began to wriggle underneath him. "Go on, I'll be in, in a minute."

It took a minute but he finally relented with a pout and a whine before hitching up hs jeans to migrate from the couch to the large and apparently well-appointed kitchen. Delilah watched for a moment as he scavenged in the fridge before rummaging through the cabinets, apparently totally comfortable in his space before she grabbed her cane, wrapped up in the throw blanket from the back of the sofa, and wandered off in search of a bathroom.

"End of the hall, last door on the right," Steve called after her, shamelessly enjoying the view of her retreating form. He hated to see her leave, but he loved to watch her go. Snorting, he shook his head at his own silliness. Now, on to dinner. "Jarvis, lights at 50%, please."

The lights came up slowly as he set out his implements. It wouldn't be fancy, but ham and swiss on rye were pretty damn universal in their ability to bring joy and sustenance at the same time. "Thank you, Jarvis."

"Of course, Captain," the AI replied deferentially. "Though, If I may..." When Steve paused in his preparations, the computer reminded him, "She's a vegetarian, sir."

Dammit, he knew that. "Crap," he muttered, and then felt something cold and wet hit his wrist as the bottle of squeezable horseradish mustard exploded in his hand. "Hell!" He glanced quickly in the direction of the hallway to make sure the gaffe was unseen.

"She's washing her face, sir," the AI informed him, the amusement in his tone quite evident.

"Thank God," he muttered, then took in the mess he'd made. His wrist and hand wasn't that big a deal but the shirt was a total loss. "Ah well." He stripped it off and ran it under some cold water in the sink before taking stock of his options. Since he normally ate in the communal kitchen, he normally limited his personal food to late night dagwood sandwiches. Not exactly hearts and flowers, post-hottest-sex-of-his-life food.

"Might I suggest grilled cheese?" Jarvis was nothing if not helpful.

"I'll take it."

In the time it took to wrangle her hair into something not quite so 'freshly fucked' in appearance, clean her face, and fashion the blanket into a semi-respectable toga the scent of cooking tomatoes and garlic filled the air. When she finally made it back into the living room, her heart melted so fast, all she could do was lean against the couch and watch the display.

With his back to her, she could only ogle his absolute perfection as he danced in front of the stove, singing along to Fats Waller. His shirt was gone, only adding to the overall luscious domesticity, and he was sliding grilled cheese sandwiches two at a time onto a plate already populated with several of them.

He flipped the latest batch of sandwiches over and then sang into the spatula, "'I don't stay out, got no place to go, I'm home about eight, just me and my radio-'"

"'Ain't misbehavin', savin' my love for you,'" she answered from where she leaned against the breakfast bar with a grin she could feel weighing down her face. He whipped around, cheeks ablaze and she wanted nothing more than to kiss him forever in that moment. "How do?" She giggled and he grimaced, looking like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I didn't know you sang."

He raised one shoulder and turned back to the stove, turning off the burners and plating the last of the snacks. "I'm not sure you'd call it that." Plate in hand, he herded her over to the already set table where two bowls of tomato soup were waiting in cute, handmade bowl cozies with fanciful rainbow and daisy patterns.

With a plate of two swiss and provolone on rye in front of her to dip in the soup, accompanied with about half a cow's worth of milk in a glass, she was about as happy as she could ever remember being. It was a simple meal, but she appreciated both that he'd cooked and had done so _for her_. It was a little thing but it warmed her heart even more than the food warmed the rest of her.

The only sound in the kitchen for a bit was more of the jazz Steve had selected as they both fell into their plates. It was a peaceful kind of silence between them, borne of exhaustion and the apparent Olympian levels of hunger Steve was experiencing. Delilah watching in amazement as he demolished his sandwiches and killed his bowl of soup like it wasn't 2,000 calories in a sitting. Apparently all his appetites were oversized and she was perfectly fine with that.

"Question." She caught his eye as he looked up from his bowl but kept eating. "So, um, I'm not… That is, we-by that I mean you and I-aren't... I mean, I wasn't… Hell." She took a defiant bite of her sandwich in hopes that it would quell the humiliated fire that was blazing across her face.

Steve primly brushed away some nonexistent crumbs from his lips and focused his amused and curious blue eyes on Delilah. "Yes? I can sense a question, I'm just not sure which one you want me to answer."

"I speak English," she muttered into her bowl, annoyed with herself, "just not right now apparently."

"Dee." Her dark eyes met his and a slow grin spread over his lips. "Ask."

She thought about just skipping past this entirely. Playing it off and whatever, but her own awkwardness had made that impossible. "Tell me I'm not the first chick you've slept with since thawing out."

Steve's startled blink was his only reaction. "Wow, that was not what I expected at all." His eyes widened as he thought about it, completely flummoxed. He opened his mouth a couple times, but nothing came out but a wheezing laugh. Finally, he settled on a reply, "To answer your question, no, no you are not." He watched her carefully after his response, even more confused when her shoulders sagged with relief.

"Man, thank God. That was a _lot _of pressure." She gave a quick nervous chuckle and picked up a half of her sandwich. "So what _did _you expect?"

"Not that, for sure."

"And you and she are…" she took a bite and gestured with her sandwich to indicate her intent.

"No." He shook his head and dipped his own sandwich in his soup. "She's an agent and I was at loose ends about Peg and Buck and… not a great decision but sometimes things happen."

Lord knew she'd done the same thing once or twice, so she couldn't fault it. It was a remarkably… human response from someone many revered as a paragon or a god. "You know, you're different than I expected," she remarked as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

He quirked an eyebrow and finished chewing before asking, "In what way? Were you expecting a virgin?"

Delilah snorted, frowning as she dipped a half of her sandwich in the soup. "Are you kidding? You were in a _war_. And the USO. I've seen those girls."

With his chin up and a half smirk as he sipped his milk, he looked vindicated. "Thank you." He then wiped off his milk mustache with the back of his hand and asked, "So then, what did you mean?"

"Well," she chewed thoughtfully, "I guess I wasn't expecting a guy who could turn my panties into an endangered wetland. I think that's pretty accurate."

Steve's shoulders jumped and he very deliberately put down the spoon, narrowly avoiding decorating the table with his soup. "Ya think you could warn a fella next time, Delilah? Jeez!"

She giggled, very proud of herself. Steve was fun to tease, and bless him, he made it so easy. "Sorry."

"Are you really?" He wiped his mouth with a napkin and couldn't hide his amused grin.

She shook her head. "Not really, no. I'm glad that you're so comfortable around me, though." At his raised eyebrow, she snickered slightly and folded her napkin on the table next to the empty bowl. "I just mean…" Her eyes travelled around the room as she thought about it. "Well, like Cap." Steve blinked and she continued, "He's a good guy, a stand up guy. Cap doesn't cuss."

"Clearly you've never seen me in battle," he responded, watching her with undisguised curiosity.

She waved off his assertion. "Right, but Cap doesn't cuss around _me_."

He reared back in obvious offense, "Of course not! It's not polite to cuss around around a lady."

Her triumphant smile was all teeth and dimples. "I'm pretty sure _Steve_ disagrees." She hooked her arm over the back of the chair as she twisted in the seat to face him more directly, enjoying his wide-eyed realization and subsequent flush that started somewhere north of his navel. Her blanket sarong loosened a bit, exposing her leg almost to her hip, drawing his eye.

"There are," he paused and cleared his throat to clear out the rough notes of arousal that were present. "There are _contexts_," he emphasized the last word as he licked his lips. "Circumstances where that kind of language is… appropriate."

"Encouraged, even." Delilah trailed her fingertips from her knee up to her hip, over her bandage, skin prickling with goosebumps that were spreading over her whole body. Now that she'd had him, she couldn't stop herself from wanting more and more.

He nodded as he slowly rose from the table. "Exactly." Steve paused by her chair and looked her over with a speculative gaze. "I'm gonna do something, and please don't get upset."

"Okaaaaaa-Hey! The hell, man?" she asked breathlessly as he very easily scooped her up from the chair and turned to ferry her back down the darkened hallway to his room. She started to squirm and kick her feet, but as tall as he was, if he dropped her, it would hurt a lot, so she settled down with her arm around his neck and her other tucked up against her.

"You're injured," he replied casually, as if hauling her around bodily was a common thing to do.

"And?"

"I don't think I was very mindful of that our first time out," he informed her, as blase as could be.

"I'm alright. It doesn't hurt too badly. It's okay."

"Maybe." He shrugged under her hand as he shifted her to one hand to open his bedroom door and then kicked it shut behind him. "Maybe," he deposited her softly on the mattress and stood at the bedside looking her over with his delectable bottom lip caught between his teeth, "I just want to spoil you a little."

_Well when he put it that way… _

* * *

Cap missing dinner wasn't _entirely_ unusual in the grand scheme of things, but to miss dinner with the team after a mission? Short of being confined to medical, that was absolutely unheard of. Meredith came out to join them to rejoice in their safe return. Hell, even Agent Agent showed up, but that was really just because he wanted drape himself all over Barton and enjoy a meal simultaneously. Regardless, dinner with the team after a mission was kind of inviolable, and thus Tony took it upon himself to go fetch their leader.

"Jay," Tony inquired as he stepped into the elevator, "Cap in his quarters?"

"Yes sir, but-"

"Great, thanks. Can you bring up the numbers for the latest alloy stress tests?" Just because he had to wait in an elevator was no reason not to tinker a bit. Standing still was never his strong suit.

The holoscreens he'd been working with vanished once he arrived at the floor, though the doors didn't open immediately. "Um, Jarvis, the doors?"

"What I attempted to inform you of earlier, sir, was that Captain Rogers is _indisposed_."

Tony grimaced as he pushed against the door to emphasize his desire. "Whatever, I'll wait for him in the living room. Let him know I'm here."

"Sir-"

The elevator doors whispered open to a room lit by the city light below and only the barest hint of the overhead lights. From his vantage point, he could see the bowls left on the table and the light on over the stove. "Okay, that's weird." Cap was normally a clean freak and having a ripple in a throw rug was something of an anathema. He lived to be orderly.

Now Tony was on a mission, venturing deeper into the apartment as quietly as possible, headed toward the bedroom. As he cleared the edge of the couch, he noticed a pair of jeans on the floor. "What the hell, Jay, is he ok?"

"The Captain's vitals are within normal ranges, sir. As I was saying, he is-"

"Is that Dave Matthews Band?" Tony hissed, staring directly at one of Jarvis' many cameras in arrested horror. The music was faint, but definitely familiar, a song Pepper had on a playlist back in the day when she was feeling especially romantic. "Is he-?"

"Sir. I must strenuously insist." The elevator doors snapped open at the command, and after a brief hesitation, Tony entered the glass box with a huff. "Thank you, sir." If it were possible for an AI to sound relieved, Jarvis definitely did after the doors closed and they began their descent to the common floor. "Now, as I _attempted _to inform you _several _times, he is indisposed _with_ Miss Ford."

All the pieces began to click into place at once, the darkened living room, the dishes on the table, the clothes on the floor, the music. "Huh."

His squinting look of open disbelief was met with the computer version of a sigh. "It would appear that they have come to some sort of an understanding."

"Well, I'll be damned." Tony chuckled to himself as he stepped off the elevator and into the common area. "Good on 'em. Obviously, I want the recordings."


	7. Chapter 7

It was another two weeks before Delilah's lawyers and those of the US Attorneys as well as those of SHIELD were able to agree upon a date and time for her settlement conference. The fact the government was referring to it as a plea agreement was immaterial to her since she was not planning to pleading to a damn thing, and her lawyers agreed.

The time spent waiting on the lawyers to sort things out that wasn't spent in trial preparation and strategy was passed in the tower getting to know the housemates now that everyone was home, more or less. Bruce spent most of his time in the lab during the day, and had turned into quite the spades player after dinner. Tony was above such things but not so much that he felt bad running book on the spades games. Meredith was teaching Tasha and Thor to knit, with more or less success. Delilah may or may not have kicked Clint in the shins a couple times, but they both knew he had it coming so it was okay.

Morning was on the chilly side and overcast as Delilah made her way to the federal courthouse where the talks would be held. Clad in her 'bad bitch' armor of a navy sheath dress that fell demurely to her knees and lightly kissed every curve in between, she went with Natasha's suggestion of spectator pumps and matching bag. She may have needed her cane to walk, but she damn sure was catwalk ready. The colors were neutral, her attitude anything but.

Steve had insisted on going with her, even though she knew this would not be a good look for him, PR-wise. Tony muscled his way into the proceedings since it was a) his money paying for her defense (a valid point), and b) because any time he could be a pain in the ass in the fight against federal overreach, he was going to (also a legit reason, if a bit sketchier). The upshot of both tagalongs was getting to see them both suited and booted. Waistcoats had never looked so good.

There were crowds gathered on the steps of the courthouse when the limo pulled up. Carrying signs, chanting, seeing her face on a shirt either for or against was intensely surreal, and all that was before the billowing sea of news cameras and reporters. It was really easy to imagine just ditching the whole proceeding and hiding out for the rest of her life on an island somewhere she didn't even speak the language.

"You're fine, Dee," Steve soothed, petting the back of her hand and gently prying her fingers from around his.

She immediately released her grip and flexed her fingers to ease the stiffness. "Sorry."

He gave her his most confident Captain America smile, the one he gave her the day he'd plucked her from the Hydra situation. It said everything would be okay. Whether or not that was true, she appreciated the support. "We're here with you and whatever happens, it's gonna be okay."

Tony tapped her other hand as he slipped on his ubiquitous shades. "You scorch the leather, you bought the ride, kid."

It took conscious effort, but she loosened her grip on the seat next to her as Tony's driver Happy pulled to a stop. "Sorry," she muttered, doing her best to keep her cool when it felt like the world was pressing in on her. Last thing any of them needed was for her to set the car on fire. Nothing screws up a quick getaway like a torched ride. Even worse if they were inside it.

"No worries, Hot Stuff." He winked at her, immediately transforming from her manic friend the engineer to the greatest showman on Earth. "Okay, kids, showtime." He moved over to exit the car first when Happy opened the door. "Remember," he looked her in the eye before turning to Steve, "do it just like we planned, and we'll be inside and away from all this before you know it."

"Lean on me all you need to, dollface. I've got you," Steve murmured as he followed Tony out of the car. The plan was for them to assist her out of the car and then flank her on her way up the steps, both as a buffer against the crowd but also in the event her legs decided they were no longer onboard with this program.

The noise was intense, immense, pressing in from all sides, her anxiety spiked right off the bat and the sweat was instantaneous as the first tingles of a transformation prickled over her skin. Thankfully, between Tony's 'never stop walking' approach and the awesome power that was the almighty Gaze of Disapproval and Disappointment from Steve, they managed to make it inside without incident.

The moment they cleared the doors, Steve crowded her onto a bench to rest, a handkerchief out for her to blot her face while he sent Tony in search of a bottle of water and to let the lawyers known they'd arrived. Just having him there by her side was enough to help her attenuate some of the strain.

"You're okay. I gotcha," he murmured against her temple as he held her against his side with an arm around her waist. He was protective to the point where she worried about what would people would say about him as she watched the harried faces of the clerks and varying other lawyers that assiduously looked away as they passed them.

Still she was grateful to have him with her. "I'm good, Cap. I promise." Her voice didn't even sound shaky or anything, she noted with pride as she laced her fingers with his.

His smile beamed as he looked down at her. "I know you are, Dee." His blue eyes flickered over here shoulder and she turned to see the mass of people headed their way, led by Tony and her attorney of record, Adèle LeFebvre.

They'd met several times over the course of her case, but encountering her here was eye-opening. Adèle was a force of nature. She should have come with a storm warning, flags, something. Tony referred to her as the legal equivalent of bringing a tank to a knife fight. Her height was the only thing average about her. Defiantly curly long brown hair, delicately angular features in flawless makeup, wearing a white silk suit that cost as much as a car and carrying a handbag and briefcase that cost twice that, she was as gorgeous as she was formidable. Watching grown men recede into the woodwork in front of her was amazing and frequent.

Steve got to his feet as she approached and Delilah did as well, his arm going around her waist automatically. She had her cane, but Steve definitely seemed to prefer her use him if he was available. He greeted Adèle with a kiss on the cheek and murmured something to her in French which made her smile.

"Captain, Delilah," she greeted them, then raised an eyebrow at their closeness, but he merely shrugged. To Delilah she asked, "You ready?"

She nodded as Tony pressed a bottle of water into her hands. "As much as I can be." Cracking open the bottle, she took a long drink and hoped it would quiet the echoing tremors in her stomach.

"Good answer," the lawyer smiled tightly. "Just follow my lead and we will lay waste to these assholes." The cheer in her voice made Delilah and Steve snicker, as Tony beamed.

"That _is _what I pay you for," he observed as he sipped his own water.

Adèle's smile turned sweet as she faced her employer. "And you pay me so well." Her phone chimed then, and she turned on her heel. "Alright, let's do this." She looked for all the world like a general going in to battle.

The group convened in a conference room on the second floor, which had already been occupied by Fury, Coulson, and several of SHIELD's finest legal minds on the other side of massive oak table. The mediator, an older black man in a sharp grey suit and gold-rimmed half-moon glasses was seated at the head of the table, looking over his paperwork.

The Director narrowed his eyes the moment they entered the room, making a show of looking at his watch "You've learned to tell time, Miss Ford, good for you, or was that your boyfriend's doing?"

"That sharp stick up your ass is going to puncture something vital if you're not careful," she cheerfully replied as she took the seat Steve held out for her. His lips twitched as he patted her arm but he didn't say anything in response. All the SHIELD lawyers suddenly seemed very involved in their paperwork and Phil looked like his tie might be strangling him.

From the head of the table, the mediator cleared his throat as he shook out his handkerchief and wiped the lenses of his glasses. "This is a settlement conference, ladies and gentlemen, so antagonism right out of the gate is good for no one. Why don't you all have a seat?"

Adèle nodded as she took her seat next to Delilah and removed a heavily annotated legal pad from her briefcase. "Yes, your honor."

He looked over a notepad before addressing all present. "I am Judge Jermaine Thompkins, to be addressed as Judge or Your Honor. As this is not a court proceeding, per se, the rules will be a bit less formal today overall, but that one, I will hold you to." He waited until everyone around the table looked him in the eye and acknowledged him before continuing. "I am here today not as a judge but as a disinterested third party here to ensure that this matter is mediated fairly and in the best interest of all parties involved."

Delilah recognized the Assistant US Attorney for the Southern District of New York Kalisa Dawkins from television. Somehow the white woman with the high bun and pinched features in the understated pants suits never looked quite as severe as she did in front of her as she introduced herself to the parties and put forth her first demand.

"The United States government stipulates that Miss Ford register as a mutant."

There were levels of registration, from simply possessing the x-gene, to being classified as a mutant, to finally being considered a 'dangerous mutant.' Long story short, Delilah shook her head briefly.

"No." Her lawyer refused on her behalf and completely agreed with her reasoning.

"No? The whole reason we're here is because she refused to register-"

"A civil infraction for which your officers came to make an unlawful, _warrantless_ arrest for what is ostensibly a ticketable offense-"

"Be that as it may, having her register brings her into compliance with the law-"

"A law that is unjust on its face-"

Toe to toe, the lawyers went for blood straight away and were only separated by the sharp report of a judge's gavel rapping on the table top. "Alright folks, let's dial it back. Miss Ford."

"Your honor?"

"Am I to understand that you refuse to register as a mutant?"

She looked to Adèle, who's only tell was a blink of encouragement. "That is correct, sir."

"On what grounds?"

"Your Honor, if I may, there is no one in this room, heck, in this country, that doesn't know I'm a mutant. The news media and protesters in front of the building make that point pretty clear. I am, de facto, registered, whether I want to be or not. None of this was voluntary."

He nodded, blinking slowly as he took in her points. "I get the impression there's more."

Here was the tricky part. She wasn't going to mention it unless asked directly, per Adèle, but she also knew it needed to be said. Under the table Steve placed a hand of support on her knee. "There is, your honor."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

From the corner of her eye, she could see Steve nod slightly. "_Judenstern_." In that moment, she had everyone's undivided attention.

There was a reverent whisper behind her and to her left, "Holy shit." Tony's mouth dropped open, but he covered it quickly, eyes wide with impressed shock.

"Repeat that," Fury ordered, his voice low and full of menace.

"I didn't stutter." She squared her shoulders and faced the Director of SHIELD head-on. "First it's just 'we want to know who you are and what you can do' and then it's 'oh, we just want to know where you are', and then suddenly, it's 'because of who you are, you can't do this and that and whatever, and by the way, can you get on this railcar?'" She stopped when Steve flinched next to her, tangling her fingers with his under the table as a kind of calming apology for her vehemence. With a deep breath, she summed up, "I'm a goddamn citizen-sorry, Your Honor-and, um, no. I will not be registering beyond what everyone else in this room knows. I will not wear your black triangle."

All eyes swung back to Fury, whose flushed face around his eye patch lived up to his name. "You think I would-"

"I know you would," she corrected immediately. No one had mentioned his visit to her hospital room to either side's lawyers, but that could be corrected immediately if push came to shove.

"For the record, we do, too. Or do you think we don't hear the stories coming out of Genosha?" Tony inquired, leaning in so his head was between her and Steve's with a vicious grin. He was here for his own pound of flesh apparently. The horrors of the internment camp for mutants had featured several nightly news stories recently and there had been numerous calls for congressional hearings into the matter as well. It was the worst kept secret on the Hill at the moment.

But Tony wasn't finished. "How _is_ General Stryker these days? Has he been disavowed by the government for his crimes against humanity yet? Anything you'd like to discuss about those glorified shock collars he patented with substandard tech in them? The reported deaths on the island? The reports of extraordinary renditions? Experiments on unwilling participants? Don't pretend for one goddamn moment that you being here, instead of the MRA-the agency that Stryker founded specifically to track mutants-has anything to do with your inherent goodness or good intentions. We all know how the road to Hell gets paved."

"You don't know a goddamn thing, Stark. How about you sit the fuck down before your mouth writes a check your ass can't cash," Fury snarled, and the AUSA flinched ever so slightly as the SHIELD lawyers passed her notes.

Sitting back in his chair with a smirk, he adjusted his cufflinks. "I'm a billionaire. I'll take my chances."

At some point in the exchange, Delilah's eyes had grown so large her eyebrows had been annexed by her hairline and her mouth had magnetically attracted her hand. She'd seen his congressional hearings and marvelled, but watching him in person was a bit like watching Frankenstein animate his monster: exhilarating but the sense of impending doom was off the charts.

"Mr. Stark," Judge Thompkins admonished with a restrained frown, "while I appreciate the desire to support your friend, in this proceeding, she is better served by your silence." Turning to the Director, "And in future, Director Fury, please refrain from verbally berating members of the opposing side. It's counterproductive for all involved."

"Giving you the benefit of the doubt, Director Fury-" Adèle ventured into the deafening stillness that followed the Judge's warning.

She was interrupted by his grumpy expression of gratitude. "Thank you, Ms. LeFebvre."

"Cut me off again and I won't be so forgiving," she continued over him without missing a beat. "Just because _you_ would not behave so reprehensibly, what assurances can we have your successor won't?"

"What assurances do we have that your client won't decide to incinerate the Eastern Seaboard on a whim?" AUSA Dawkins fired back just as quickly.

Delilah paused long enough to get a cue from Adele as to how to proceed. When the lawyer nodded, she folded her hands in front of her and took a calming breath. "None, actually. Except for my mother. My momma raised me better." She looked each person seated across the table in the face. Everyone had a mother, so this shouldn't be a hard concept to grasp. "Here's what you all don't appreciate. By thrusting me into this spotlight, you have irreparably harmed her now, too. Her privacy has been removed involuntarily, her safety is now in question. As I'm sure you all know, the fastest way to me is through her. You want assurances that I'll behave? My mother receives a protection detail."

Fury snorted in clear amusement. "In exchange for what? Having all those resources devoted to a little old lady-

"Choose your next words very, very carefully," she warned him softly as Cap slipped a hand onto her knee, either as a show of support or to keep her from going across the table, she didn't know or care. People disparaged her mother at their peril. Even if she didn't go ballistic for it, Steve Rogers would let no momma go unavenged.

Seemingly remembering who he was talking to, Fury held up a conciliatory hand. "Your mother's welfare is not a matter of national security."

"Yet," she finished for him. "What happens next time HYDRA attempts to abduct her? Or some other terrorist group? What then? You honestly think I'm going to wait on local authorities to handle the situation?" Her shoulders jerked with her huff of derisive laughter. Adèle had warned her against making threats, but she wanted to be perfectly clear on this point. "She is the only thing important to me. Everything else in my life is secondary to her health and wellbeing."

"In exchange for what, exactly? Jail time?" AUSA Dawkins' smirk looked it was physically painful to her.

She didn't even dignify that suggestion with a reaction. "I'll become an Avenger."

Delilah could feel Tony's eyes boring into the back of her head, and Steve went deathly still next to her. They'd discussed this, the three of them together and separately, and while there were good and bad points, no official consensus had been reached. It was Fury's smile, though, that slow self-congratulatory smirk, that had her back up.

"Do tell."

"Part time, adjunct even. On call basis only." She almost told him 'like her leg' but she didn't want to answer the questions she knew would arise from that exchange.

He sniffed and flicked away her offer with a wave of his hand. "I'm not interested if you're only doing this to be close to your boyfriend."

She snorted, a spiteful little giggle that started from deep in her chest. "I don't care what you're interested in. Not everything's about you. Besides, I'm not working for you."

"Oh? And how do you propose to be an Avenger and not work for me?" He looked genuinely entertained at the notion.

"I'm gonna work for him."

Phil looked up from the meticulous notes he'd been taking on the proceeding to find Delilah looking directly at him. "I'm sorry?"

"What?" the Director blasted. "You don't just get to decide to join _my_ team and then decide not to work for _me_. That's not how any of this works."

"What are you doing?" Steve mumbled out of the side of his mouth at her, but she held up a finger. In that moment, Phil's eyes got wide and he picked up his phone, mouthing an excuse to the judge and quietly making a beeline for the hallway.

"Number one, you've proven you can't be trusted. You've shown that you're more interested in being right than ensuring the safety of other people." Sitting in silence, she dared him to contradict her, dared him to speak out about how her arrest had been more important than the HYDRA operatives laying siege to the building. All those people hurt and injured because of him. Hell, if she wanted to be very picky about it, she got shot because of his pigheadedness. "Agent Coulson, however, has demonstrated more than once that the desire to be right and the ability to do the right thing aren't necessarily the same thing."

"And the second part?" Fury asked mildly, still looking amused, but now more wary.

For this one, Adèle stepped in, sliding documents across the desk as she gave him a feral smile. "They're not _your_ team. Given your phenomenal lapses in judgement of late, leadership the Avengers Initiative has temporarily been shifted to Agent Phil Coulson per Acting-Director Hill, pending a review of your work history as well as a fitness for duty inquest." A 'fitness for duty' examination was a multiphase physical, mental, and emotional evaluation to insure competent, sane performance of one's job, in short: a potential death sentence for a SHIELD agent's career.

The lawyer for the government looked immediately suspicious. "What is this I'm looking at? A civil suit?"

Adèle rolled a shoulder, looking more relaxed than she had in the weeks Delilah had known her. "Think of it more as a sacrificial altar if it makes you feel better." She waited until the AUSA flipped the page to tender her offer of, "Unless."

Fury harrumphed and rolled his eye as he crossed his arms. "Unless what?"

"Public apology."

"Oh fuck no," but his absolute rejection of the terms was overshadowed by Tony's immediate howls of mirthful laughter.

"You expect Cyclops here to apologize?"

"I do," Adèle confirmed as she began to subtly began to pack up her belongings. "Doesn't have to be today, but it does have to be in front of God and everybody. Preferably in prime time but I'll leave that up to you, obviously. In the meantime," she turned to the mediator, "I believe we're done here, yes?"

Judge Thompkins looked from Fury who appeared to be boiling in his seat, to the AUSA who appeared to be in dire need an emergency vodka infusion, to finally settle on Phil, who had just made it back into the room, face a bit flushed, quickly shoving his phone into his pocket. "Agent Coulson?"

"We have everything we need, Your Honor." He signalled to the troops to gather their things and go before pausing to whisper to Cap for a moment and then he was out the door again.

A bang of the gavel later, the mediator addressed Delilah. "Miss Ford, it appears you're free to go. Please, for the love of everything holy, stay out of trouble."

She snickered as she nodded, feeling lighter than she had in way too long. "Will do, sir. I promise."

Steve swept her up into his arms, completely uncaring of their audience, burying his face between her neck and shoulder as he squeezed the stuffing out of her. "It's over, Dee." The rest of what he said was muffled by her face buried in his chest but she didn't care, because she was spinning in his arms and free, finally, finally free.

When Steve finally set her back on her feet, she turned to Adèle, who looked like the cat that had rid the neighborhood of canaries. "So what do we do now?"

"Now, I step out and say a few words to the folks waiting out front, since I'm sure the media vultures out front will want some copy for their deadlines. Plus," she ushered them out of the boardroom and in the direction of the emergency exit, "it'll give you a diversion while you make your getaway."

"Already on it," Tony informed them with a smile as he texted away.

Another few minutes and they were down the back stairs, being led by Marshals to the underground garage where Happy was waiting for them. Once ensconced in the limo, Tony reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne and some glasses.

"I know it won't do anything for Cap, and you have pain meds to consider, but a swallow won't kill you and we have shit to celebrate."

With logic like that, she couldn't fault him, and took a small lead crystal cordial glass from him with just over a swallow of effervescent gold in it and passed it over to Steve before she took her own and held it up. "To Tony." When he grimaced and tried to wave off her praise, she poked him with her cane. "I'd still be in jail if not for you, or even worse, HP. You know this."

"Eh," he sniffed, his cheeks colored with the most endearing flush, "I had to help you or Steve would have pined. Nobody wants to deal with Steve pining. Very weepy, emotional. The world is not ready for Captain Emo."

Cap rolled his eyes, breaking out the weapons-grade sarcasm over her snorts of laughter. "Sure, Tony. I'm sure that's exactly what it was. Jackass." Raising his glass to Tony, then to Delilah, he offered his own toast. "To teammates, then, old and new."

Tony raised his glass to that. "And Adèle, because goddamn her bloodletting is a sight to behold."

Steve and Delilah both nodded vehemently and raised the glasses, bringing them together. "To Adèle."

They emerged from the underground garage into the open street outside without incident and she had Tony crack the sunroof for the illusion of fresh air as they headed back home to the Tower. Home, hell, now that the whole mess was all over, she had to figure out what was left of the life before Cap. Her place was likely gone, her job was in limbo, she didn't even know if it was safe for her to sing in public again. Leaning her head against his shoulder with his arm around her she watched the world inch by in heavy traffic and sighed deeply.

"So what changed your mind?" Tony asked as he switched from champagne to scotch. She raised her eyebrow in question but he just smiled into the drink he swirled in his hand. "About the team, Hot Stuff. You're one of us now, apparently."

"Apparently." She looked up at Steve, who pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Honestly, I don't mind helping. I'm not good for much-" She could actually feel the ignition sequence to Steve's objection to that statement as he stiffened beneath her. "Power-wise," she clarified, petting his chest. "I'm not terribly versatile, but what I am is a weapon of last resort, and I'm good with that. You need a pale rider? I'm yours."

Steve settled back down, sliding a hand up and down her arm affectionately. "My best girl, a Horseman of the Apocalypse." The pride in his voice couldn't have been more obvious even as the abject silliness made her shake her head with an indulgent sigh.

"You could do worse," Tony informed him as they rolled through Midtown.

Steve nodded vehemently and squeezed her to his side. "Right?"

"Now the real question." Tony leaned forward and looked so serious her toes curled. She shuddered to think what Tony Stark considered to be 'the real question' arising from all this. "Oprah or Barbara Walters?" Her pinched face of utter confusion only made him giggle. "For your exclusive. Everyone and their mother wants to sit down with you and your publicist-"

"I have a what now? When did I get a publicist?"

He waved off her concern and barreled on like she didn't speak. "Your publicist and I agree those two are probably the best bets for you. So…?" he gestured for her to move it along.

"Hell." She slid in the seat until she was half stretched across Steve, still laying on his chest and her now-bare feet were on the seat next to her. Tony trafficked in mayhem but she also knew he was a man well-schooled in the art of 'spin'. "I mean, Barbara's an SLC alum, so there's that, but man. Oprah!"

Tony nodded like he appreciated her conundrum. "It's a tough call for sure."

They debated the finer points of both women's interviewing style as they parked and headed to the elevators up to the private quarters with no decision made.

* * *

Steve, with his arms draped around her waist as he stood behind her, held back a moment as Tony got on and pushed the button to head on up. "You mind if we catch the next one?" He heard Delilah's tiny hum of questioning but ignored it for the moment.

He was already pulling at his cufflinks and loosening his tie when he shook his head. "Suit yourself, Cap. See you upstairs."

The doors slid shut silently, leaving them alone in the basement garage with only the faintest hint of street noise filtering down through the concrete.

"Something on your mind, Cap?" she asked with a smile as she looked up at him over her shoulder. Her smile was like sunshine, completely necessary for every function in life and he reveled in it.

"You're gorgeous, you know that?" He couldn't remember if he told her that before they left for the courthouse, but damn, she took his breath away. Even if he did, she deserved to hear it more.

"You might need glasses, old man," she teased, even as she reached up a hand to softly knead her nails on the back of his neck.

"If I'm an old man, what does that make you?" He asked as he leaned down to nip her neck.

She snorted with the smuggest grin he'd ever seen on her face. "Mathematically? Jailbait."

"Brat." The elevator doors popped open then and she skipped inside, narrowly avoiding the light swat to the ass he'd planned for her. The smile on her face transformed her from the serious woman who'd given Fury no quarter into the joyful, ebullient songstress who'd stolen his heart long before they'd even met.

With the afternoon sun's reflection peeking between the buildings that surrounded them bathing her face in golden light as the elevator slowly ascended she asked, "What's really on your mind, Steve?"

"You." He wound his arms around her again from behind, just relishing the joy of holding her close to him as they took in the sights from the glass capsule.

"Smooth, Cap." She patted his hands where they rested at her waist. "Jarvis?"

"Miss Ford," the AI answers solicitously.

"Can you give us a minute, please?" she asked, looking up absently at the ceiling.

"Of course, ma'am. Privacy mode engaged."

The elevator halted between floors and she turned in his arms, wrapping hers around his waist. "Talk to me." Her dark eyes stared up at him, the open affection on her face always a revelation for him. .

"So, I've been meaning to bring this up to you for a while now," he started, then cringed at how much it sounded like the opening to an easy letdown. A raised eyebrow was her only response. "I... " he sighed. "You have a life, outside of here. One I'm sure you want to get back to now that you're free."

"Right." Delilah nodded cautiously, her eyes never leaving his.

"I mean, I know this place has been kind of a prison for you, so I'm sure you're anxious to get out of here and I don't want you to think that you have to stay-" The rest of what he had to fumble through was muffled by her hand across his mouth with the most serious expression he'd seen since she'd faced down SHIELD.

"Imma stop you right there. Are you throwing me out?"

He yanked her hand down, completely horrified by how badly this had gone off the rails. "Of course not! I want you to stay but I don't want you to feel like you have to or I'm just saying it because you have nothing else or because you think I'm being clingy or-"

She covered his mouth again, then brushed her lips across his when he fell silent. "Lead with that next time," she whispered, her smile so wide he actually got to see her dimples, a rare treat indeed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he pressed his lips to her forehead. He couldn't tell if the fine trembling he felt was from her or his own. "I don't mean to keep screwing this up, but I know that you have a life to go back to. I just want you to have a life here, too."

"Okay." She was positively sparkling in happiness. "Jarvis, common floor, please."

"As you wish, ma'am."

He pulled her in close, just enjoying the soft warmth of her in his arms. It was a simple joy he would never, ever tire of. When the doors opened, it was clear the bedlam had started without them.

Thor was seated at the kitchen table in a frilly apron of all things, mixing something in a large silver bowl next to Tony, who had his sleeves rolled up and a stack of silver baking sheets in front of him. Bruce was concentrating hard on whatever he was assaulting with his piping bag filled with icing, and Clint and Tasha were battling it out with wooden spoons while he stuffed his face with a pan full of baked goods.

Balanced precariously on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, the archer was holding his own with some admirable swordsmanship. "My name is Inigo Montoya, you ate my brownie, prepare to die."

"It was just the one, calm down." Natasha then got in close enough to scoop up another bit of gooey chocolatey goodness and stuff it in her mouth. "Now it's two."

Leaning against the sink was Meredith, who was watching the proceedings with a fond smirk as she accepted a mug of coffee from Agent Coulson. Delilah figured she could call him Phil since they were all at home.

"You could be happy here," Steve murmured as he watched the shenanigans with his chin resting on her head and his fingers laced with hers across her stomach.

"I _am _happy here," she replied, realizing it was entirely true.

"Me too."


End file.
